One of the Monsters
by galfoy
Summary: Doubt was a funny thing. It was like a tick; harmless on the surface, but when it burrowed in deep, extremely dangerous. For Draco Malfoy, successful Death Eater, ruthless soldier and proud Pureblood, it may just be his downfall.
1. Chapter 1

_OH MY GOSH HI. Here's the story I've been promising you for ever and ever. Old-timers, you know how this works. Newbies, welcome to daily posting! I will post a new chapter of this story every weekday for about two weeks, taking weekends off to write. I have 70% of the story done and I will give up my social life and my lazy mornings to write the rest in real time for you. Now: I won't hold the story hostage, but in exchange for this madness, I really, really love getting your reviews. They keep me encouraged so I can finish the story on schedule. (_I'm counting this as Monday's post - I know, it's Sunday night. Ah well.)__

_I am posting this story here AND at my new A03 page, because this site deleted my last story (you can find that fic on A03). I know a lot of you have subscribed to me here, which is the only reason I'm still using it. If anything gets deleted while I'm posting, I'll move exclusively to A03._

_Lastly, and sorry for the novel of an author's note, this story is a bit darker than usual, just so you know. Okay, that's all for now. Visit my Tumblr (linked on my profile) if you want to say hi!_

* * *

The train raced through the underground, the _clack clack_ of the tracks beating a familiar tattoo as it echoed through the tunnels. It was the evening rush, and the Tube was full. More Muggles than any Pureblood would normally ever see at once, but the novelty had worn off by now. This was hardly his first time, after all.

He wasn't even supposed to be here. If anyone found out where he was sneaking off to, he'd be a dead man. A Death Eater willingly surrounding himself with Muggles! Blasphemous. The Dark Lord would have his head. It was almost funny... As close to funny as one could get these days, anyway.

Draco Malfoy curled in on himself a little tighter, his robes transfigured into a long, black trench coat to avoid attention, the collar up. He'd managed to secure the best spot; the corner seat was the perfect place to hide in plain sight, what with everyone packed in like sardines and avoiding eye contact. Bless the British Muggles and their collective aversion to interaction with strangers. It was organized mayhem, people herded about like cattle, but compared with the high-profile existence he maintained in his own world, disappearing into the suffocating crowd of commuters was a relief of almost indescribable proportion. He could feel the tension seeping out of him like blood. He imagined it oozing out of his skin, pouring out of his mouth, running down his cheeks, finally dripping down onto the floor. Blood was finite, but tension was in endless supply. He could drown everyone in this car with it.

The idea made him smirk, but as he caught sight of his reflection in the foggy glass, it looked more like a sneer, his lips curling into an unflattering line, hair shaggy and hanging down to his collarbone. It made him look old and bitter. He turned away.

Sinking a little deeper in his seat, Draco closed his eyes and let the sound of the train chip away at the darkness within him.

* * *

_Sloane Square, Gloucester Road, Earl's Court, West Kensington..._

* * *

On the train, he let his mind wander to places he'd normally never allow himself. Lately he had been wondering whether he could ever get out. _Really_ get out.

Was there a way to stop being a Death Eater and survive?

Would he have to become a spy?

The very idea seemed ludicrous. Laughable. Even if he did somehow find an Order member, he'd be killed on the spot. He was the enemy. It was his job to hunt them down and finish them, and generally speaking, he did his job well.

Besides, the Order may as well have disbanded - it had been years since any of them had been spotted. The surviving members had just disappeared, vanishing into the night after an assault on one of their safehouses. That was a good night for his side: five Order members dead, including Ron fucking Weasley. Draco's father managed that kill. It had been a proud time to be a Malfoy.

They took Lucius from him later, of course, a retaliation Draco had yet to recover from. The anger simmered inside him, eating at his lungs like acid. Instead of mourning, he simply became more volatile. Thankfully, a Death Eater with an anger problem blended in to life at the Manor seamlessly.

They thought the War was won after Weasley was brought down, but they were wrong. Even with the Order gone, the Resistance was strong. Draco didn't understand how the Resistance was managing to fight so well after years of hardship... By all accounts they should have been wiped out years ago. Perhaps it was Potter again, leading the people like a fucking beacon of light. How he had stayed hidden for so long was yet another mystery.

But then again, that's what the War had become. The Resistance was strong, the Order was invisible, and nobody knew who was winning anymore. It was a goddamn disaster, six years in and only getting worse.

Perhaps he could flee. He was smart; had lots of contacts with the types of criminals who made people cease to exist. Could he pay them off?

Then he remembered seeing Timothy Randall after he had attempted to run away. The Dark Lord tracked him down. Skinned him. Kept him alive like that. Draco had to watch, along with all the other Death Eaters. It was a warning; he understood that much. It kept them terrified and subservient. It reminded them that an angry Dark Lord is far worse than a quick death. It reminded them to shut up and fight.

There was no way out. He was just stuck here until a Resistance fighter finally got lucky and snuffed him out like a flame. It wouldn't be long now. He could feel it.

* * *

_South Kenton, North Wembley, Wembley Central..._

* * *

The first time he was ordered to kill someone, it didn't quite work. The words left his lips, and the green blast from his wand hit the sobbing man in front of him, but the man kept moaning and whispering for mercy.

"Draco," tutted his aunt Bella. "You have to _mean it_."

Aunt Bella fancied herself a mentor, and decided to teach this particular lesson by example. She tortured the man for a while, long enough for blood to leak out of his ears, for his words to stop making sense. Draco was the one who finally asked her to stop.

"I'll mean it this time," he said. And he did. The man died immediately, painlessly.

Draco knew from then on that he had to kill captives before anyone else got to them. It was kinder than the alternative.

Killing was a little too easy after that. Kindness became a moot point.

* * *

_Chalk Farm, Camden Town, Mornington Crescent..._

* * *

He wasn't sure when things started to change for him. For years, he was proud to be who he was. Close to the top of the ranks, held back only by his age. He was a strong fighter, ruthless, and power suited him. Everyone had him marked for bigger and better things. Younger Death Eaters idolized him. The future, should this war ever end, looked bright.

The fact of Draco's intelligence worked in his favour at first, but eventually the little things started to catch his attention. He noticed when the raids stopped going according to plan. He overheard the panicked discussions between senior Death Eaters. He observed the slightly more desperate nature of the Dark Lord's orders. Some even suggested that there was a rat somewhere in the troops. What started as a tiny tear in the fabric of their ranks turned into a gaping hole. Everything felt unsteady, like they had just walked off a boat with sea legs. Regardless, they continued as if they were still the clear victors, held back by a few small inconveniences.

It was the first of many lies they told themselves.

The realization came to him one sleepless night when he was on a stakeout. It was made worse by the fact that it was so painfully obvious, and he had been blind to it for so long.

He didn't want to be there.

He hadn't wanted this reality for years now. Had he ever really wanted it? Gods knew he liked the power, but compared with his life before the War, this was a waking nightmare. What he wouldn't give to be back at Hogwarts, attending classes, stressing about his OWLs. At the moment, he was debating whether or not he'd have to torture their next captive for information before killing them.

He wanted to go back in time and choose Option B.

He wanted out, but it was too late for him.

Draco stared at his hands, the Dark Mark screaming up at him from where his sleeve ended. Merlin, it was ugly. How had he never noticed? It was terrifying when he got the thing, the stain on his arm. It was so long ago now, it felt like another life. In a way, it was. The Draco from Hogwarts wouldn't recognize the person he had become.

Doubt was a funny thing. It was like a tick; harmless on the surface, but when it burrowed in deep, extremely dangerous. Disorienting. Sometimes lethal.

* * *

A week after his realization, he was walking through the dark, rainy streets of Muggle London, trying to locate one of his contacts, when he saw a blue rectangle on the ground.

"Oyster," he read out loud, turning it over in his fingers. "Transport for London." Why Muggles felt the need to name their transport after a sea creature was beyond him. Bloody idiots.

He made to toss it back on the ground, but was interrupted by a jet of green light smashing into the brick wall by his head. Startled, he swore, breaking into a run as shouts echoed behind him. _Goddamn it_, someone had spotted him. Maybe his contact had ratted him out. Maybe his contact hadn't been a real contact at all. Either way, he had a better chance of Dispparating safely if he wasn't in the middle of an ambush. The street was slick with rain, his boots nearly slipping on a couple of greasy corners before he saw the entrance to a tunnel. A staircase leading into the ground with several Muggles ambling down the steps.

One of them was holding a blue card just like the one he still had clenched in his fist.

Another curse whizzed past his shoulder, and Draco figured there was little to lose. A Resistance member wouldn't attempt a spell once he was embedded in a crowd of innocent people. He ran for it, stumbling a bit on the steps and knocking over some annoyed-looking Muggles in the process. It was easy to mimic how they passed their cards over the electric box to get past the barrier, so he used his little blue rectangle and slipped into the throng.

Draco looked back over his shoulder. No sign of being pursued. Best to be safe and stay down here a while.

It wasn't until he was actually seated in a train that he realized how easy it was to blend in, how easy it was to take this route to the end of the line, how easy it was to forget who he was for a moment. Nobody even took notice of him here. Nobody gave a fuck what family he was from, or what he had done. Nobody cared that he might be on the losing side of a war that had been going on longer than anyone cared to remember. Draco Malfoy was a nobody in the Muggle world.

It was glorious.

* * *

_Angel, Old Street, Moorgate…_

* * *

One thing he appreciated about the Tube, aside from the anonymity, was the occasional visit from nature in the underground. Roots peeking out from a crack in the wall. Moss creeping along the damp concrete. Once he found a small flower pushing up through the missing grout between some tiles.

The station he used most often even had a small bird infestation. There was usually a sparrow flitting about the arches, peeking at him, chirping away loudly. It was familiar to him now, a staple in his strange life. How it managed to survive down there was anybody's guess, but it didn't seem bothered. He had even seen a raven on the platform once, a sleek one, nothing like the mangy city birds he was used to. It blinked at him before hopping away. Gave him a funny feeling, but ravens were like that. Scary clever birds.

It was a fleeting hope, but if nature could exist in this strange habitat, maybe he had a chance after all. He had no idea where he belonged anymore.

* * *

_Rayners Lane, South Harrow, Sudbury Hill…_

* * *

There is a Muggle saying: sometimes it has to get worse before it gets better.

The problem with that saying is, during a war, you never really know when you've hit rock bottom. You just keep falling.

* * *

A quick Alohamora and Draco was inside the old diner, his entire body shaking, his stomach threatening to heave. He stumbled through the back hallway and passed the dark kitchen, hoping to find the loo. Thank God he had remembered this place. Thank God there was no alarm system. It was 3 a.m. and that last thing he needed was another complication. If anyone found him looking like this, well… He didn't want to kill anyone else tonight. He _couldn't_.

_Ah, finally_. Fumbling with the light switch, Draco blinked in the fluorescent light and nearly panicked at his reflection in the rusty old mirror above the sink.

Fuck, he looked like a massacre. Blood in his hair. Blood smeared on his face. His black robes were soaked with it. A pained sound pulled its way out of his throat before he could tamp it down. _Stop it. Shut up_. This was no time to lose control.

The taps creaked open, dumping cold water onto his waiting hands. Generic pink soap from the dispenser would have to do… He didn't even trust a Scourgify on this mess. The viscous gel burned as it slipped into his cuts, which only made him scrub harder. Hopefully the sickly perfumed scent would help clear the smell of blood out of his nose.

A wet trickle of something ran down his ribs, and Draco couldn't quiet the string of profanity that tore out of him. He ripped the robes off, deciding then that he would rather burn them than try to clean the blood out.

His ragged breathing echoed in the small room. He sounded like a trapped animal. He _was_ a trapped animal.

The raid was an unmitigated disaster. There were _kids_ in that house… He was told they were hunting Order sympathizers, that they should attack first and confirm the damage later. There were adults too among the bodies, but the sight of the kids –

Draco heaved, emptying the contents of his stomach into the toilet, retching until there was only bile left. Dropping to his knees on the uneven tile floor, he hitched a breath and looked around at the bloody mess he'd made of the small room.

For the first time since the War started, Draco realized he had become the nightmare parents try to shield their children from. He wasn't just one of two sides in a battle.

He had actually become one of the monsters.

* * *

_Aldgate, Liverpool Street, Moorgate, Farringdon, Barbican, Baker Street, Great Portland Street, Euston Square, King's Cross St. Pancras, Uxbridge, Finchley Road, Hillingdon, Ickenham, Wembley Park.._

* * *

It was too much to hope that he'd be able to sneak back into the Manor undetected. A strong hand clapped him on the back, and he nearly jumped out of his skin.

"You look paler than usual, mate," said Blaise, grinning. "Where'd you run off to? Been gone ages. Look like you've seen a ghost."

"Went to the dungeons," he lied, trying to hide the fact that he'd been having a drawn-out panic attack on the Tube for hours, much longer than he'd intended to be away. It wasn't even open yet when he finally finished cleaning himself up, so he broke in and waited. He _broke in to a Muggle area_ and waited to be comforted by a _ride on a Muggle train_. Draco Malfoy. Death Eater. Failure.

"Found myself a slave to work off some tension, if you catch my drift."

Blaise clicked his tongue sympathetically. "Yeah, that was a bad raid. Glad they aren't all like that. Smart to fuck it off though. You find a pretty one?"

Draco thought momentarily of the state of the slaves in the dungeon. They were starving and dirty, and likely all consumptive. Besides, he was probably responsible for putting them down there.

He'd sooner cut off his dick than take a slave to bed. He'd sooner fuck a Basilisk.

"Oh yeah," he winked. "Gorgeous."

* * *

_Osterley, Boston Manor, Northfields..._

* * *

He probably could have faked it. He was a gifted Occlumens; he could have hidden his doubts, waited for the War to end, or better, waited to be put out of his misery by a Resistance fighter. It could have worked out perfectly. Nobody would have needed to know about his aching regret or his raging self hatred.

But then everything went fucking pear.

Draco was standing on a Tube platform when it happened. Transfiguring his robes was simple now - black trenchcoat, black boots, disinterested expression... Everything he needed to be ignored. The routes of the underground were mapped out flawlessly in his head. Where would he go today? He supposed it didn't really matter as long as he was left alone.

Except that someone stepped up right next to him, far too close, so close that their arms were brushing. Annoyed, he turned his head with a sneer, prepared to tell the idiot off.

"Hello Draco," said Luna Lovegood. Her long, nearly-white hair and her dazed expression were exactly the same as when they were in school. The only difference was the ugly red scar that gouged its way across her cheek.

Draco gaped.

"Didn't expect to see you here," she continued. "But then again, everyone is displaced nowadays. You look a little peaky... Everything alright?"

He managed a dry croak, somewhere between a cough and a "wha -" before the train pulled in. The crowd surged.

He lost her immediately.

* * *

Later, when he was unable to sleep, the mirage of his former classmate smiling airily at him, he thought several responses to her inane question.

_Of course everything's not alright. How can you ask me that? Do you know what I am?_;

Or,

_Why aren't you running away from me? I kill people like you. I have killed your friends, your family, for God's sake Lovegood, why aren't you running?_

Or,

_Am I hallucinating?_

Or, maybe,

_Can you help me get out of this?_

* * *

It occurred to him much, much later why she hadn't run away from him.

He never, not for a moment, thought to reach for his wand.


	2. Chapter 2

_Hello humans! Haha, I LOVED your reviews. You guys are great. Sounds like Luna took a few of you by surprise... Don't worry, this is 100% Dramione. They're just not going to have an easy time of it. For those asking for info on A03 (the new site where I am posting my fics) it's a fantastic fan-run site that pretty much does everything you could possibly want. It's super well designed. I have invites to spare, if anyone wants, or you can just request one and you'll get it the next day. Anyway, I'm putting up Tuesday's chapter now because I won't be at a computer tomorrow morning... Hope you don't mind! xoxo_

* * *

"Draco, you're daydreaming again."

Draco blinked and grimaced, annoyed with himself for being so obvious with his distraction. "Sorry mother. Just a little tired today."

"Of course," said Narcissa, wrapped up in a black lace shawl like some sort of elegant bird of prey, arching a delicate eyebrow in his direction. She sipped her tea.

"You've been tired a lot lately."

Draco bit the inside of his cheek. Of course his mother would notice his strange behaviour. She was smarter than everyone in the godforsaken Manor, and she had raised him to boot. Something as profound as an identity crisis was bound to be picked up on, eventually. He'd been feeling this way for months now.

He shrugged. "Have a few things on my mind. Nothing important."

She nodded. "Understood. There certainly is a lot to think about these days, what with the rumours."

"Rumours?"

"That the Order has a new leader."

Draco swallowed down a scalding mouthful of tea. "I'm sorry? I haven't heard this."

She nodded, blowing on her tea delicately. "That's what my sources say. They say it's someone powerful, someone who is determined to end the War."

"And it's not Potter?"

"If it was still Potter, it wouldn't be news."

"I wasn't even sure they still existed."

"Apparently they do, although I expect their numbers are significantly reduced."

Frowning, Draco chewed on his bottom lip. Since the Order disappeared from sight, news of their movements had been nonexistent. This was probably the first significant piece of solid information they had gotten in years.

"But who would it be?" he mused. "Most of them are dead. I mean, other than Potter and the Mudblood and…" He paused, wondering about Luna, "… maybe a few of their school friends. There's nobody to choose from, and practically nobody from the first generation. We've got bodies to prove their ranks are decimated." The Dark Lord had kept Ron Weasley's body on display in the dining hall until it started to decay, just to prove they were getting somewhere. Secretly, it had turned Draco's stomach, the discomfort warring with his desire to gloat.

Narcissa shrugged. "I don't really know. I'm waiting for my sources to get back to me. Perhaps someone from abroad."

"But the rest of the world has shunned the fighting… Nobody is getting involved."

"Perhaps the rest of the world got tired of waiting for the fighting to end."

"And you trust your sources?"

Narcissa let out an annoyed huff. "My sources are impeccable." While Narcissa didn't participate in the actual fighting, she turned out to have a talent for intelligence gathering. Now she was the principle source of information for the Death Eaters, disseminating everything she heard. She'd become much more active since Lucius's death, throwing herself into the work to stay busy. She met with the Dark Lord once daily to discuss any new developments. No other senior Death Eaters save Bellatrix had that privilege.

"What does the Dark Lord say about all this?"

She frowned, staring at the floor. "He doesn't say much. He's been… Quieter as of late. Not out as often as before."

"Perhaps he's worried."

"Perhaps he's right to be."

Draco fidgeted with his tea cup, thinking about Luna. The timing of her strange visit was especially suspect now. While he had no proof she was an actual Order member, she had been in the DA and her allegiance was never in doubt. If he went back to the Tube, would she find him again? There were no raids planned this week. He had more time than usual to wander about the Muggle world.

"Aunt Bella seems especially tense lately. Is it related to the news about the Order?"

Narcissa shrugged. "She's tense about everything. I admit to being worried about her... Mental stability."

"Oh?" Draco bit his tongue so he wouldn't say out loud what he thought of his aunt's alleged mental stability.

"She thinks there's some sort of an internal conspiracy against the Dark Lord. It's nonsense, of course, but she is increasingly paranoid these days." Narcissa pinched the bridge of her nose as if her sister's waning sanity was a dreadful inconvenience.

Draco thought back to the number of Death Eaters who had succumbed to some form of mental decline. If they weren't sociopathic, they often fell apart slowly under the pressure of war. He hated to admit that he was a good example of that particular brand of erosion. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

"Regardless," his mother said, snapping him out of his reverie, "I've digressed. What I meant to emphasize is that it would be best if you got some proper rest. There may be difficult times ahead, and you will need your wits about you."

"Mother, with respect, the past six years have been difficult."

Narcissa leaned in and covered his hand with hers, giving him a sympathetic look. "I know. It's been hard on us all, but you especially. You are exhausted, darling. I can see it."

He grumbled something unintelligible.

"I understand what the strain of war can do to a person, Draco. I've seen it happen before. I believe, however, that after some introspection, you will come to the same conclusions as I did, and you will act accordingly."

Draco had no idea what that meant. His mother was a central part of the Dark Lord's inner circle. If Draco followed his conclusions, he'd bloody well defect. That was certainly not what she had in mind for him.

"Follow your instincts," she said. "That's what I do."

Draco resisted the urge to tell her his instincts were telling him to run.

"What do your instincts tell you, mother?"

She smiled and squeezed his hand, her kind expression slipping into something darker.

"They tell me to avenge your father and punish the people who took him from us. They tell me to crush my enemies mercilessly."

He cleared his throat. "I pity your enemies."

Narcissa took another sip of her tea. "You should, my love. Keep yourself safe. Strange things are afoot."

* * *

Two days later, Draco found himself back on that same subway platform, scanning the crowd for Luna's distinctive hair. He told himself it was business this time, that if he found out where she was hiding, maybe he'd find the Order. Maybe she could give him information. Maybe he could help win this war.

His real motivations were not quite so clear-cut.

The train pulled up and there was no sign of her, so Draco elbowed his way in and snagged the corner seat. At least he could clear his mind for a while as he waited. He felt vaguely like bait.

Three stops later, someone sat next to him.

"Hello again," said Luna.

"Lovegood, what the fuck?" he whispered, still managing to be startled by her presence.

"Found your voice, I see."

"I'll find my wand if you're not careful," he warned.

"You won't," she replied.

He clenched his teeth and reminded himself not to get defensive, even though it was so bloody tempting. He'd forgotten how aggravating she could be. "You don't know me well enough to say that."

"Perhaps you're right," she shrugged. "But either way, I'd prefer to just talk, if it's all the same to you."

"Why would I want to talk to you?"

"How else are you going to ask me questions?"

"Wha - ugh. Fine. Whatever, Lovegood. How about you tell me why you're here?"

Her eyebrows drew together. "To find you, of course. Wasn't that obvious?"

"Okay, but _why_ do you want to see me? I'm your enemy. We are in a literal war against each other."

"Yes," she replied. "I suppose we are." Luna looked straight ahead, appearing to be formulating a response. Draco waited. About a minute went by.

"Are you planning on talking at any point?" Draco snapped.

"You may already know that I've always been able to see things that others can't," she said, ignoring him. "I was teased in school, but there was nothing false about what I saw. That ability has only intensified over the years. Eventually I started getting visions. It was really quite frightening."

"You're... Are you telling me you're a Seer?"

"It does actually run in the family, but I hadn't anticipated that it would assert itself so late in life. Terrifying gift, if I can be frank. Anyway, I wanted to find you, because you're going to be important."

Draco blinked. "Important. Lovegood, I am the equivalent of a cog in the Death Eater wheel. How exactly am I going to be important?"

"I mean, the prophecy is a little woolly, but you're still definitely involved."

"Prophecy? What the bleeding fuck are you talking about?"

"I just wanted to ask that when the time comes, you'll make it quick."

"When the time comes for what?"

"You'll know."

"What I know is that this conversation doesn't make any sense," he hissed.

"Perhaps you should learn how to listen," she whispered back. Then, completely unexpectedly, she smiled at him, the genuine sort of smile that brightens a person's whole face. Draco found himself beginning to smile back, and tamped it down, angrily. He realized, fleetingly, that he hadn't been on the receiving end of a smile like that since before the War.

She was looking out the window now, hand on the chair as if she was preparing to leave. Draco needed information before she slipped away again; he couldn't be left with only a fragmented conversation to refer to.

"Is it true that the Order has a new leader?" he asked in a hushed voice.

"Oh yes," she said, nodding, beginning to stand up.

"Do you think that they will actually end the War?"

"I believe so."

"But have you seen it? Like, in a vision?"

She smiled again and shrugged. "Couldn't say."

"Where is Potter in all this?"

The smile dropped off her face. "Harry is carrying out his final mission, Draco. It is of the utmost importance that we make sure he accomplishes his goal."

"We? Are you including me in that statement? Lovegood, you're obviously talking to the wrong person."

"I don't believe I am," she said. "This is my stop. It's been nice speaking with you. There will be help here when you need it."

"Why would I need it?" Draco glanced out the window - they were at Holborn Station. When he looked back, she was gone.

* * *

Of course, the second his nightmare of a life got interesting, he had to be brought back down to earth. It was a stupid skirmish with a handful of Resistance fighters, the sort of fight he'd engaged in hundreds of times over. They were aggressive though, and it was only he and Blaise against five of them. He was thinking of ways to get out of there unscathed when the curse hit him.

Cold radiated through his body. He was still upright though, so not the Killing Curse. Something more creative, perhaps?

Staggering behind a tree, Draco tore open his robes and squinted down at his torso in the dim light.

He saw the pin prick mark on his sternum.

He threw his head back and laughed until it came out as a sob.

He Disapparated on the spot.

* * *

_King's Cross, Russell Square, Holborn..._

* * *

It was one thing to quietly hope for death, to wonder which raid would be the last, to imagine that dying would greatly simplify things. It was quite another to have the reality of it slowly eating away at your chest.

Draco's whimper was covered up by the noise of the tracks, just as his limp was covered up by the crowd as he weaved his way into the station. People probably assumed he was drunk, unsteady on his feet with unfocused eyes. _Fuck them all._ This was his last Tube ride, and he'd do as he liked. He waited for the train, swaying, wondering how long he had left. The bloody sparrow was back. It flitted about, its chattering noises slowly being drowned out by the approaching car.

The crowd surged.

Corner seat again. Lucky him. Nobody would even notice that he was expiring where he sat. Somehow he preferred it that way.

With a jolt, the train began to move.

The Clavus Corpus curse was really quite a work of art. It started as a pin prick over the sternum, a tiny little dot of blood, until it began to grow. It would continue to grow until it was a hole the size of a nail, and then a finger, and then eventually the victim would be left with a gaping wound that would bleed them out. Draco knew all this by heart. He'd once seen a Clavus Corpus so strong that it ate away someone's entire torso. It was grotesque and fascinating. He'd said at the time that he'd love to try it out one day. Someone had beat him to it.

Hilarious. That was the word for it.

Or horrifying.

Maybe that one too.

His eyes were stinging, and he wiped his nose on his sleeve. It would have been nice to say goodbye to his mother properly. He could tell her he'd been worried about her, concerned that the death of his father had broken her completely. Or he could apologize for being a failure, perhaps. Apologize for not continuing the family line. Rage at being signed up for Death Eater service before he actually understood what it would mean. Mourn the loss of his dignity at finding comfort in the Muggle world, or perhaps mourn the fact that he no longer cared. Ask forgiveness for being an utter coward, taking the easy way out time and time again.

Whatever. The world would be short another monster. It was all for the best. Potter and his fan club would be thrilled.

The train pulled sharply to the left, sending fresh pain up through his body. He probably had about twenty minutes left, if even. His robes were soaking up the majority of the blood, but eventually someone would notice. Perhaps he could manage a small invisibility charm. He'd rather die in peace than with a crowd of Muggles fawning over him.

The wand slipped in his grasp, fingers too bloody to hold on. He swore. So much for the charm.

It was really very cold in this train.

He closed his eyes.

_Clack clack, clack clack, clack clack_.

"Malfoy."

He opened them, startled. The train car was empty, save himself and one other person at the other end of the small space. She was so familiar. Pale. Older than she used to look. Serious and tired.

_What the fuck?_

It was Hermione Granger.

* * *

Of all the people his mind would conjure up in his final moments. The hallucination of Hermione Granger fidgeted uncomfortably, looking strangely corporeal. Her hands were scarred, violent red burns marring her pale skin.

"You've gotten yourself into quite a mess," she said.

"Where did the Muggles go?" he slurred.

"It's hard to explain."

"You're not real," he said.

She snorted. "I'm sure you'd love to believe that. Sorry to disappoint you, but I'm definitely real."

"Prove it."

"You're wasting time." She was angry now, flipping like switch, face tensing. "Don't test my patience. I don't particularly want to be here, so don't make this more difficult than it has to be."

He blinked in disbelief. Could it be? A hallucination would never be this accurate - her tone, her disdain for him, all perfect. The real Hermione Granger was sitting in front of him and he was too weak to use his wand against her.

It wasn't fair.

"I'll kill you," he said anyway. "I'd get top prize."

"Good luck with that. You can barely even keep your eyes open."

"Come to repay the favour, then?" he sneered. "'Fraid someone's beat you to it."

"That's why I'm here, obviously."

He gave her a quizzical look. Everything was swimming.

"To save your life," she said, the anger giving way to exasperation. "Please tell me you weren't always this thick."

"To save my life?"

"Yes."

Draco gritted his teeth. "Fuck you."

"Excuse me?"

"I said fuck you. Don't mock me. I don't want your sodding help, and I certainly don't believe you're going to save my life. Take me back to the normal train."

"Seriously Malfoy?" Angry again, Draco noted with a twisted sort of pleasure. "I barely wanted to do this in the first place. You're not exactly helping things along."

"Piss off," he said with relish, knowing it would be one of the last things he ever said. "Let me die in peace, you insufferable bitch."

She straightened up, suddenly. "I don't know why I expected any different," she murmured. "You're still exactly the same. I should never had believed that you had changed."

The lights flickered. Hermione snapped her fingers.

* * *

Suddenly the crowds were back, the train racing along as normal, all very loud and bright. "Bloody hell..." he murmured, looking around. He must be losing his damn mind.

Nausea washed over him, and he felt the hole in his chest widen ever so slightly. Blood gushed out of the opening. It was dripping onto the floor; somebody was going to notice. The smell of rust and death was getting too strong to ignore.

Panic started to flood him.

_No no no no no_.

Why did it have to be Granger? Why did he come down here? He should have let himself bleed out on the pavement. Stupid and hopeful, coming back to the station where Luna had left him. Luna might be completely mental, but he couldn't bring himself to hate her the way he hated Hermione. He thought maybe she would find him help. Didn't she say that?

It struck him, suddenly, that maybe she did find him help.

_Fuck_.

A wave of pain crippled him and he gasped, the tremors cracking his head against the window. He knew he had almost wished for exactly this scenario, a direct way out of his predicament. Death was an unambiguous way to get out of a war. Killed in the line of duty - an honourable way to go for a dishonourable man.

But maybe he wasn't as ready as he had originally thought.

"Granger?" he whispered. The Muggle directly to his left pretended not to hear. Nobody else was paying attention.

_Clack clack, clack clack, clack clack._

"Granger?" he said a little more loudly, hating himself. He was losing control over his body, head lolling to the side, breathing choppy and erratic.

_Clack clack, clack clack, clack clack._

"I apologize for what I said," he said. The Muggle beside him looked at him sharply, clearly annoyed at the monologue. Draco ignored him.

"But if you still have any intention of pulling that Gryffindor hero wank, now would be a really good time." His eyes drifted shut.

* * *

"Malfoy!"

There she was again, directly in front of him this time. Everyone else was gone.

"Buggering fuck, Granger," he tried to say. It sounded more like humming.

"Quiet," she said, coming closer, her hands reaching out, wand tucked into her belt. "Let's take a look at you."

"You're not looking at anything," he slurred. "Clavus Corpus. No chance for me." He grinned, and there was blood on his teeth.

He could see her inhale sharply, eyes darting back and forth over his body.

"We'll have to work quickly then."

"Nothin' to do," he mumbled.

"You should probably let me decide that," she said, pulling a vial out of her pocket. "Drink this."

The liquid burned his throat all the way down. He coughed, spitting what he could back out.

Everything came back red.

"You keep buzzing on and off," he heard himself say.

She swore under hear breath, murmuring charms as she worked. Draco felt the tip of her wand on his chest, his stomach, the top of his head.

The pain was hitting him in blows now, and he whimpered, unable to hold it in.

"Granger, I'm not feeling so good."

"Just stop talking, Malfoy."

"No, m'ssssss - serious."

She swore again. Somewhere in his mind, Draco registered how strange it was to hear Hermione Granger being profane.

"Okay," she said. "I can't stabilize you here. I've got to move you. Do you trust me?"

He tried to focus his eyes on the person in front of him. She was covered in his blood. Her hair was still (always) a disaster. She looked furious and panicked. She was a key Order member, the same group who killed his father, and she was his enemy from birth. He _hated_ her.

"Not a chance," he spat.

To his surprise, she laughed.

Then she shrugged.

With a wave of her wand, everything went black.


	3. Chapter 3

_Hello lovelies! Holy crap, I forgot how hard it is to write in real time on a strict deadline. Friends invite me out and I'm all "No, sorry, I have angsty fan fiction to write, it's very dear to my heart, and no you cannot bribe me with alcoholic beverages..." ANYWAYS. I am loving your comments and they are keeping me going (and thanks to the folks also checking the story out on A03... it means a lot!) This chapter features more of our favourite lady BAMFs and a conflicted Draco. Narcissa may or may not sample Muggle food. Mwahahahaha. Shit gets dark after today, so be warned! xoxo_

* * *

A deep tremor shook the ground, with an accompanying rumble that infused Draco's fevered dreams with visions of fire and death. It was such a familiar sound. If he could only place it...

_Dragon! _

His eyes shot open, but he held his breath and kept his body still, his vision still too fuzzy to determine the location of the threat. All he could hope for was that the dragon was far enough away to let him sneak out without being noticed.

Trouble being that he had no idea where he was.

_Think. Think before you get incinerated_.

Haltingly, bits and pieces started to come back to him. The War. Luna. The curse. The Tube. Granger. _Granger?_

He sat up suddenly, and immediately collapsed back down with a cry of pain. Sticky, itchy gauze covered his torso, the air reeking of antiseptic and blood. Of course... The curse. Had she actually healed him, then? Why would she do something so stupid? He wasn't even in chains. Draco looked around, gasping as he tried to fight the nausea that suddenly threatened to overtake him.

There was no dragon that he could see. There was ugly overhead lighting, the kind Muggles seemed to favour in public spaces. It buzzed and hissed above him. As his eyes adjusted, he saw walls of cracked, cream subway tile and ancient rusty pipes. It was a strange little room, obviously created via some sort of reshaping charm - long walls had been twisted to close off the space, leaving that slightly off-kilter look that was unique to the magical world.

There was no door.

Where the hell was he?

Draco glanced down at his body, and his neck protesting painfully at the movement. He was lying on a cot, bandages wrapped tightly around his chest, his trousers gone. Thankfully she had left his boxers on. The Dark Mark stood out starkly against his pale skin. There were other cots in the cramped space, as well as teetering bunk beds. All empty.

"Granger? Lovegood?" he choked out, looking around at the empty room.

Madam Pomfrey materialized beside him. "I'm afraid not, Mr. Malfoy!"

"Fucking hell," he swore, glaring at his former school nurse with surprise. "A little warning!"

"Watch your tongue, young man. You're lucky to be alive." She immediately started fussing over his bandages, tightening them in places and causing a fresh shock of agony to sink into his ribs. He whimpered at the sensation, and then bit his tongue hard to quiet himself.

"Why are you here? And how am I alive, exactly?" he asked, his head spinning from the effort of keeping conscious. "I thought there was no way to reverse that spell." There certainly wasn't at the Manor, anyway. They'd lost a few soldiers to the Clavus Corpus.

"I work for the Resistance, of course. I've had six years of this war to practice on exceptionally cruel curses. Luckily for you, I've seen this one before. Caught it in the nick of time."

Draco remembered how he had refused Hermione's help at first, and shuddered to think what might have happened had she not knocked him out when she did. Thank Merlin she was stubborn.

"It was a Resistance fighter that cursed me," he said, remembering a little more. "One of your lot."

She grunted, unimpressed. "Yes. War bring out the worst in all of us, I think. I'll be happy if I never see that curse again. Drink this."

Draco forced down a fowl potion that left his throat feeling numb, and then fought down the urge to throw it all up.

"Speaking of which, although I was able to heal you, you are far from recovered. You won't be well enough to leave for several days. The flesh needs to grow back into the space left by the curse - " Draco found himself wanting to heave again at the description, "And you will feel disoriented by the medicine I've had to give you. It's significantly stronger than I would have liked but - "

"But?"

"Let's just say that our supplies are limited. This is war, after all. Miss Granger will be in to see you shortly. You are not to attempt to leave on your own, Mr. Malfoy. Your presence here is not widely known and I can't guarantee that you won't be harmed if someone sees you sneaking around."

Ah. So he was at some sort of safehouse. Why in Merlin's name did they bring him here? Surely they knew it wasn't safe to have a Death Eater so close by, even if he was incapacitated. What could possibly be worth the risk?

"There's no bloody door anyway," he groused. "And why are you helping me?"

Looking around for an answer, he realized he was alone again.

* * *

"Malfoy."

Draco awoke slowly, immediately frustrated that he had fallen asleep at all. He was behind enemy lines - he couldn't afford to endanger himself further. He was already so vulnerable, but the medication made him extremely groggy and he found it hard to stay awake.

He managed a weak glare. "Where's Lovegood?"

"I actually don't know," said Hermione.

"Why did you heal me? I hope you don't expect me to fall over myself with gratitude."

She smirked. "Gratitude? From you? No. I wasn't exactly betting on getting anything back, let alone a thank you."

"Well good, because you aren't getting one. Where's my wand?" He patted his bedding ineffectually.

"I'm sorry, did you expect to keep it? I'm sure you realize how naive that is."

"And I'm sure you realize what a cunt you are," he snapped.

"You're obviously feeling a bit better," she muttered, her cheeks pinking. "I'll just see myself out."

"Wait!" he said, kicking himself for speaking before his brain had caught up to his mouth. It felt like second nature to antagonize her, but she was his only chance at finding out what he was doing here. He had to hold her attention for a while longer.

"I'm sorry," he tried.

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "You are most certainly not."

"No, I'm not," he admitted. "But I can try to keep the insults to a minimum if you'll tell me what the hell I'm doing here."

"You've been healed, you will stay until you've recovered, and then we'll see."

"Small reality check, Granger: you have no reason to do any of those things. It's dangerous just having me here, let alone actively keeping me alive."

"For once, we agree," she said, massaging her temples.

"So you've been asked to do this? Obviously you're not happy about it. Who told you to help me?"

"Somebody's full of questions. Sorry, but that not really something I'm going to share with you."

"Is it Lovegood? Does this have to do with her... Visions? Or that prophecy thing?"

Hermione stared at him. "She told you about that?"

"Didn't say what it actually was... Just said I was involved." He was still annoyed about that. If he was named in a prophecy, he had the right to know exactly what it said.

Her shoulders relaxed. "Luna appears to think you have some hidden qualities inside of you that nobody else can see, but no. Luna isn't solely responsible for this..." - she gestured vaguely at him - "...This mess."

Draco scowled. "Thanks. Potter, then?"

The calm look dropped off her face. "It's not Harry. Please don't say his name."

"Why not?"

"You have no right to say his name."

"What name? Potter?" He was starting to feel angry again, and it was just _so easy_ to rile her up. "You don't want Death Eater scum talking about your little boyfriend?"

"Stop it."

"What was his name again? Harry fucking Potter? Golden Boy? Scar Head?"

"Fuck you," she whispered, standing up, her hands trembling slightly. "Luna must be out of her mind, because there is nothing redeeming about you."

"Maybe you should have let me die then," he spat. "Especially considering what you've just brought down on yourself."

"And what's that, hmmm? Do you really think your Death Eater friends are going to come for you? I've seen how you work. It's everyone for themselves over there. Nobody would risk themselves to come find you, Malfoy. They will write you off for dead any minute now."

Draco swallowed down the uncomfortable feeling of shame in his throat. Fuck her fucking perceptiveness. _Fine_. He didn't really have friends, and Death Eaters would happily murder their fellow fighters if it meant more room at the top for them. They would be thrilled if he never came back. Blaise might worry a bit.

She was forgetting something, though.

"You may think I'll be left here to rot, but my mother would sooner burn down London than see me harmed. She's looking for me. She's going to come for you, Granger."

He was pleased to see that she faltered slightly at the threat.

"Let her try," she shrugged. "She won't find us."

"You'll regret that," he said, calling her bluff. "We're somewhere in the Tube, aren't we? The rumbling in the walls... I knew it was familiar. Those are the trains. This is where you've all been hiding. She's got connections everywhere. She's going to track you down and she's going to take me back. Good luck escaping the wrath of a Malfoy, Granger."

"I'm familiar with the wrath of your family," she snapped. "Your father especially."

"You'll not speak a word about my father!"

"And what will you do, exactly?"

"Dunno," he said, seething. "Find a way to have Weasley murdered a second time?"

Hermione's mouth snapped shut and her eyes welled up with tears.

"Granger..." Draco said, suddenly regretting his outburst. "Wait, I didn't mean..."

A tiny sound escaped her lips and she made a half turn to her left, disappearing with a CRACK.

"FUCK! Fuck fuck fuck!" Draco grabbed the first thing he could reach - an empty vial next to his bedside - and threw it against the wall where it broke with a smash.

"Goddamn it," he muttered. He'd lost control again, and now his chance for answers was gone. It was just like at Hogwarts... She drove him completely mental. Still, that was stupid of him. He needed information, and she was the only person who seemed equipped to give it. He should never have brought up Weasley. It was a low blow, even for him.

Draco lay back down on his bed to think. She'd come back, he assured himself. She was too curious not to. She'd come back and he could try not to yell at her for a little longer. That way, when his mother came for him, he'd have something useful to tell her.

Eventually he drifted off to sleep.

* * *

Hermione never came back. He was_ so sure_ she would, but she never did.

Draco spent three days alone in that godforsaken cell of a room with occasional visits from Madam Pomfrey, who refused to tell him anything other than how to access a hidden door to the loo. The drugs made him groggy and nauseous and his injuries ached horribly. The last day he spent completely alone, pacing as much as his dressings would let him, with only a plate of food for company. He screamed at the walls, throwing everything he could find on the ground. He pulled the bunk beds down and tossed the old bedding in a corner. He wished he could set the place on fire.

Why had they healed him if they were just going to leave him? Why not let him die quickly? Death by tiny, magical room. Fantastic.

At the end of the day, just as he was beginning to wonder what he was going to do for food if they never returned, he heard something off in the distance that sounded vaguely like sparks. He held his breath, wishing he had his wand.

Suddenly, in a whirl of black fabric and white-blonde hair, Narcissa Malfoy whooshed into the tiny room.

"Draco? Oh, thank Merlin." She pulled him into a tight hug, her soft hair tickling his face.

"I knew you'd find me," he said, his voice muffled, relief flooding him. "I told them. I told them you would."

"Of course I would, Draco. Gods, I've been so worried."

"Mother, listen, this is some kind of safehouse... They've been hiding in the Muggle Tube. That's why we haven't been able to find them. They've got medical care and God knows what else. That's why the Resistance has been so strong - the Order supports them and probably keeps them going. We've got to tell the Dark Lord. He'll send troops down here... We can finally catch them. We can end this."

Narcissa let him go and shook her head. "I've just searched the area, love. They've completely abandoned it. The tunnels were certainly inhabited recently, but they're spotless now. If they had a safehouse or a headquarters, it's not here anymore. Empty subway tracks as far as the eye can see. I'm afraid we'd have nothing to report."

Draco swore. He would have loved to see the look on Granger's face if he led an army of Death Eaters into her little hovel.

"Here, put these on. I had a feeling that your old ones would be no good if you were badly injured." Narcissa reached into her black bag and pulled out a set of robes. He started tugging them on, grateful at the coverage but flinching at the way the fabric grated over his bandages.

"How did you find me?" he asked, straightening the clothes as best he could. "This isn't exactly the first spot one would think to look. I hate to say it, but this is actually a decent hiding place."

"That's the strange thing," she said. "There was no sign of you at all. Blaise said you'd been injured and that you vanished, so I put the word out. I didn't get a single message back. I was starting to lose hope when this was sent to me." She handed him a small square of parchment, and he squinted at the messy scrawl.

_Dear Mrs. Malfoy,_

_Your son is healed of his injury, but we were unable to do anything about his unfortunate personality. Please fetch him whenever convenient. We have enclosed a portkey and instructions to get back out again._

_Sincerely,_

_The Order of the Phoenix_

"They sent you a portkey?" he said with disbelief. "They just... Delivered you to me?" _  
_

"It appears that way."

"They aren't shy about it, either. Signing their name and everything. And what do they mean 'unfortunate personality'? Granger obviously wrote this. Fucking bitch."

"Draco," she tutted.

"But mother, you don't understand..." Draco swallowed heavily, wondering how he was going to explain everything to her. He wouldn't be able to lie - she'd see through him in a second. He'd have to tell some version of the truth whether he liked it or not.

"I wasn't just injured. I was dying. They... They saved my life." Upon saying the words out loud, he felt particularly uneasy about having just offered them up to the Dark Lord so quickly. He was indebted to them now, whether or not he wanted to be. He looked guiltily at his plate of food. They could have just let him bleed out, but instead they healed him and then vacated their base for their own safety.

_Bastards_.

She narrowed her eyes at him, flicking her gaze over his face. "Why would they do that?"

"I'm not completely sure... But I may have an idea. I don't think I should explain everything here, though."

She nodded, looking around the filthy room. "I agree. We have no idea who might be listening. We need to find a place to talk. You must tell me everything that happened, everything you know. I'm not sure where would be safest, but we can't be seen."

Draco shuffled his feet uncomfortably. "I know a place. It'll be safe."

"...But?"

"Well... It may not be quite to your taste."

* * *

Draco fiddled with the handle of his coffee mug, trying to decide why he ever thought this was a good idea. Narcissa glowered at him.

"We are _where_, exactly?"

"It's called a diner, mother."

Narcissa curled her lip in disdain, looking around the small Muggle eatery with obvious revulsion.

"And how do you know about this... This diner?"

"Uh, that's a little harder to explain."

A waiter interrupted and asked for their order, which Draco made for both of them, not being able to imagine his mother approving of a Full English if she knew what it was in advance. It had taken him long enough to try it himself, but that was months ago. He was ashamed at how much he enjoyed it. The first meal he'd had that wasn't prepared by house elves, and he was eating it in a Muggle diner. At least he paid for everything with stolen Muggle money. He wasn't about to turn into a bloody pansy just because he liked their cooking.

They were in a booth in the far back of the restaurant, which served to shield them both from prying eyes. It also gave Draco a direct view of the front door should trouble arise. A large part of him thought he must be insane to bring his mother here... She had probably not stepped into a Muggle establishment in her life, and she looked homicidally angry about breaking that tradition. The rest of him thought it was really quite clever. Nobody - absolutely nobody - would think to look for the two surviving Malfoys here. They could speak in relative privacy without worrying about being intercepted.

His mother was murmuring something under her breath and he realized she was casting incantations with her wand hidden under the table.

"Just some extra safeguards," she said, tucking her wand back into her robes. "Now please, Draco. Distract me from our surroundings and tell me everything."

He began to talk.

It was mostly the truth. He admitted to spending a vast amount of time in the Tube, but he skirted around the real reason he wanted the escape. His mother didn't need to know that he had been daydreaming about leaving the Dark Lord's service. Instead, he said that he wanted to clear his mind, said that the War was exhausting him. That was certainly part of it. It was a lie of omission.

When he got to the part where Luna appeared next to him on the platform, Narcissa's eyebrows rose into her hairline. Then he mentioned the prophecy.

"She said there was a prophecy? Did she tell you what it was?"

"No... She just said I was involved somehow."

"Interesting. Was there a reason you didn't kill her?" She was looking at him curiously.

Draco flushed with embarrassment. "I... I didn't think of it," he said. "She was giving me information."

"You could have tortured it out of her."

"We were in a crowded Muggle space. I didn't think I'd be able to subdue her without being noticed."

Narcissa nodded, apparently satisfied with his explanation. He was relieved. It surprised him as much as anyone that he actually didn't mind Luna's brand of crazy. She didn't try to hide it like everyone else.

He went on to explain about getting hit with the Clavus Corpus. "Before you ask me why I didn't go to the Manor, it's because I knew our people had no cure for it. Luna had told me to return to the Tube if I needed help, and - "

"Draco, you don't need to explain your actions. I find myself extremely relieved that you chose to seek help where you did. You would certainly not have survived otherwise."

Draco let out a grateful breath. The last thing he needed was for his mother to realize just how badly his loyalty had wavered.

Then he explained about Hermione Granger and the treatment he was given.

Narcissa sucked in a sharp breath between her teeth. "That's the clever Muggle-born, yes? You disliked her in school."

Draco chuckled, poking at the salt shaker. "That's an understatement. We didn't get along then, and we certainly don't get along now."

"But she saved your life. She got you medical care."

"She did," he said, taking a strong interest in the faded table top. Paisley? Terrible choice. "I still don't understand why."

There was a pause, a moment where all they could hear was the buzz of conversations happening in the small restaurant, the clinking of glasses and the sizzling sound of meat on the grill.

"I'm glad she did, Draco."

"I'm not fond of being indebted to her, mother."

"And yet."

"And yet."

Narcissa made a humming noise to herself, and nodded absently, pushing away her empty plate. Draco goggled at it, not realizing how much she had eaten while he talked. Apparently both Malfoys had a weakness for greasy Muggle cooking. How ridiculous. Unfortunate he would never be able to tease her about it; she'd probably burn the place down in retaliation.

"Draco," she said, her voice clear and authoritative once again. "I think it's best if you didn't mention any of this to anyone at the Manor. They would have too many questions that would risk sullying your good name. I also think that we know too little about the motivations of the Order to guess what they are planning, and we know next to nothing about this supposed prophecy. It would be dangerous to speak about your experience until we clarify those points."

"I agree," he nodded.

"We will have to tread carefully around the question of how you were healed. I will spread word that you were injured and that your memory was scrambled, but that you were able to recover on your own before I found you. This will buy you a bit of space from the fighting, should you need it."

"Yes, alright."

"In the meantime, I will consult with my sources to see if we can't learn more about the Order. They are clearly up to something, and for whatever reason they want to make sure you remain unharmed."

Draco nodded, slipping a wad of bills under his glass and standing up to leave. "It's got to do with the prophecy. I'll see if I can find Luna again - nothing will make much sense until we know why they would risk so much just to heal me."

The two Malfoys left the little diner out the back door, cutting into the alley so Draco, still wandless, could side-along Apparate back to the Manor.

As such, they didn't see the sparrow perched on the diner's neon sign, chirping with shrill, panicked cries to the street below.


	4. Chapter 4

_Uggghhhh you guys my brain is fried. Bad writing nights are the worst. I'll have to catch up this weekend. Anyway, enough complaining from me... You guys are lovely and your reviews are a delight. I love all the guesses... I wish I could say who is on the right track!_

_OK SO LISTEN. This chapter contains suggestions of non-con and aftermath of torture. Please be warned. It's just generally really sad. I promise the whole story isn't like this!_

_Thanks again for all your kick-ass support. xoxo_

* * *

The Manor was miraculously quiet when Draco and Narcissa arrived at the Apparition point. It made them both feel uneasy.

"There must have been another raid," murmured Narcissa with a furrowed brow. "I didn't hear about this. Strange."

"You were looking for me," said Draco. "It probably just came up unexpectedly."

"Hmm." Narcissa was clearly unconvinced. She turned to Draco and squeezed his arm. "I'm due for my daily meeting with the Dark Lord. Remember Draco: not a word to anyone about what really happened to you. We will need to handle this very carefully."

"Of course."

She kissed him on the cheek and turned to walk away.

"Mother, wait." Draco reached out and plucked something off her shoulder, holding it up to the light. It was a black feather.

"Must have picked it up in that filthy Muggle diner," Narcissa said, taking it from his fingers with a look of disgust. "They could use a House Elf in there."

Dropping the feather onto the ground, she smiled at him and strolled off. With a simple adjustment of her posture, Narcissa Malfoy transformed from caring mother to senior Death Eater strategist. Draco watched her go, wondering if he'd ever stop being impressed by how she commanded respect with nothing more than a disapproving quirked eyebrow and a menacing stare.

What would come of her meeting with the Dark Lord, he wondered. Their discussions must be very strange. The Dark Lord used to be much more active in the war effort, hosting meetings regularly with the senior Death Eaters and even showing up to the larger battles, terrifying the Resistance with his presence. His mother was right, though... The Dark Lord had become quiet. Draco didn't even recall the last time he saw him terrorizing the Manor - he stuck to the East wing of the building and rarely ventured outside.

Perhaps he had given up.

One could hope.

The Death Eaters didn't seem to mind having a more subdued Dark Lord - it meant fewer of them ended up tortured when things went wrong. Only aunt Bella seemed perturbed. Draco had heard her questioning his mother on several occasions, asking if she suspected anything was seriously wrong with him. Hard to say if it was paranoia or realism at this point.

Narcissa had always shrugged it off. If he didn't want them to know, they would just have to wait until he decided to explain, she said. Draco was inclined to agree. The Dark Lord could be on death's doorstep and they would be none the wiser unless he told them himself.

Not that he could actually die. Draco knew all about the Horcruxes - it was one thing his father had told him in confidence. It was terrifying to know they would never truly be rid of him.

Gods, what a disaster this was.

The feather lay on the ground, and Draco crushed it under the heel of his boot. There was something niggling at his brain, something he was meant to remember.

It would come to him later. He ground his teeth and began the long walk to his chambers, trying to sort out the mess in his head.

After bathing and changing into his proper robes, Draco felt significantly refreshed, and let out a long sigh, massaging the bridge of his nose. There was still so much he didn't know, so much he didn't understand. Granger might have had the reputation for her smarts back in school, but Draco knew he was no slouch. He had always been quick to see connections, quick to solve puzzles. This particular issue was beyond him, though. It was an utter tangle and he simply didn't have all the facts.

Stepping in front of his mirror, he assessed the damage to his chest. His scar was an ugly thing - the curse that had eaten away at his flesh left angry puckered skin in a deep red circle over his sternum. It looked vaguely like a target. Seemed fitting, somehow. Still, he knew it could have been so much worse. If Granger hadn't found him... Well. No sense thinking about that now. He was torn between being furious with her for existing and being unbearably grateful she put aside her clear dislike of him to save his life. The action was admirable, even he could admit it. She was much better at ignoring their rivalry when it counted. He'd never really been very good at getting past grudges, even in his school days. Had their positions been reversed, he would have let her die, quite simply.

Looking back at their argument, he still regretted losing control the way he did. It was pointless of him to have provoked her like that - she clearly didn't want to talk about Potter or Weasley. He should have dropped the issue and focused on getting more information from her. After all, there were so many things he could have asked her, so many things he wanted to find out. He never expected to get to talk to an actual member of the Order without it being an interrogation. What a wasted opportunity.

And, honestly, he wished he hadn't scared away his only real company for what ended up being a fairly uncomfortable recovery. The drugs Madam Pomfrey had given him felt like sludge in his veins, not the mention the pain of the wound itself. Even a snippy Granger would have been better than staring at the walls, wondering if he'd ever be found, sweating through the agony. Madam Pomfrey spoke to him only in medical terms, clearly disliking the fact that he was there at all.

With that thought, Draco was reminded of something that had been bothering him since the whole debacle began: he had gone to the Tube because Luna had said there would be help for him. She had been right about that.

But where was Luna?

She'd started this whole thing with her vague warnings. Now he was in some murky in-between space, straddling his reality as a Death Eater and his strange debt to the Order. He had wanted a way out. He suspected Luna knew it. Was this his chance? What was Luna's role in everything? Next to Granger, Luna was like some sort of dreamy fairy creature with the occasional moment of lucidity. Granger was direct, at least. She would either tell you something or she wouldn't. No games. Luna would sing to you in French and then tell you that should clear everything up, ta very much.

Trust the universe to wedge him between an angry, hateful Gryffindor and a nutty Ravenclaw.

Still, he was obviously missing crucial information. If he was going to be of any use at all, he needed that prophecy. It was clearly the reason the Order had bothered to save him, and anything that would convince them to do something so drastic must have serious implications for the War.

Draco resolved to set out again the following morning to find Luna. There must be something he could do to convince her to share the prophecy. Not so long ago, Draco would have tortured her for the information without a great deal of pause. His mother had suggested as much. Things had shifted for him though, he couldn't really deny it anymore.

The killings, the torture - they were a weight on his soul, pulling him into a world he didn't know very well at all.

* * *

He must have drifted off to sleep, because he awoke to a pounding on his door.

"Draco! Mate! Open up!"

Draco slipped out of bed and walked unsteadily to the door, his head still feeling fuzzy from the effects of the medication.

"Blaise?"

His friend crushed him into a strong embrace, thumping him on the back.

"Easy there mate... Still healing," he groaned.

"Sorry, sorry," Blaise said, grinning. "Bumped into your mother. She told me she'd found you - said you'd managed to fix yourself up okay. What were you hit with? We thought you'd died!"

"Some sort of burning jinx," he lied. "Hit me in the chest though, so it ended up being dangerous. I was too disoriented to come right back. Managed to sort myself out once I got my head in order."

"Well, I'm bloody glad you made it home," he said. "Didn't fancy trying to find another fighter as good as you."

Draco smiled weakly. Blaise had always been envious of Draco's successes in battle, whinging about how he needed to work on his aim so he could improve his hits. As if it were some sort of game.

"Speaking of..." Blaise broke out into a different sort of grin, one Draco didn't like at all. "We just got back from a raid, and we hit pay dirt. Got ourselves a real prize. You know her. Having a little fun with her in the dungeons right now, but I'm leaving her for you to decide the rest. Not gonna tell you the name though... I want you to be surprised."

Draco felt his heart clench, a cold feeling sinking into his stomach. Did they catch Granger? Were they hurting her? No matter their petty rivalry, he couldn't let her be torn apart by the animals he called his colleagues. Jesus, he _knew_ what went on in those dungeons.

"How long have you been playing with her?" he asked, hoping Blaise wouldn't catch the horror in his voice, his fear at the answer.

"Only a few hours. Still got plenty of fight left, if you want a go."

It had to be Granger. If anyone was a fighter, it was her. Fuck, how did she let herself get caught? Now of all times... Now when he really needed her to stay hidden. The idea of her in those filthy dungeons made him feel sick.

"Can't go, my wand is missing," he said.

"It's right there," Blaise chuckled, pointing at the window sill. True enough, Draco's wand was resting there as if he had just set it down a moment ago. Was that window open when he came in? Surely not.

Draco walked over and picked it up, frowning. It was definitely his wand - he knew every crevice, every whorl, every dent.

But how had it gotten there?

"Look, I know your head is probably scrambled from the spell and all, but you've really got to come down to the dungeons," Blaise complained. "I can't guarantee she's gonna survive that much longer. I don't want you to miss out."

Draco suddenly felt very heavy.

"Take me there," he said, slipping into character. If he was going to see Granger in those conditions, he couldn't give anything away. He'd have to be cold and closed off so he could decide what to do. A terrible sadness took over him. No matter how much he tired to escape this life, it always came back to find him.

The walk to the dungeons felt like a death sentence. Blaise was practically whistling with glee beside him. Draco imagined murdering him in a variety of creative ways. The thought didn't bother him - perhaps his aversion to killing was just more selective than it used to be. He'd gladly feed Blaise his own tongue right now, and the fantasy was the only thing keeping his knees from buckling.

It was disturbing how quickly he'd gone from wanting to kill Granger to wanting to somehow spare her the terror she must be feeling. He didn't like her, but it was the least he could do. He wouldn't be alive if it wasn't for her efforts. She hated him, and she still saved him.

The musty smell of the dungeons was starting to reach his nose - mold and old blood, excrement, ancient stone. A lifetime of never smelling this again would be too soon. He tried to imagine Granger's face, how she would look once he found her. Would she be furious, or broken? Would she even meet his eyes?

His heavy feet plodded down the twisting stairs after Blaise, trying to keep his gag reflex in check as the smell got stronger. He turned the corner, every instinct in his body screaming at him to run away.

He looked up.

Luna was crouched in the corner, covered in blood.

"Oh good," she whispered. "I was wondering when you'd come."

* * *

"You remember this one, right Draco?" grinned Blaise. "It's Loony Lovegood! She was mental back in school, but she's even worse now. Just talks nonsense. It was funny at first, but now it's annoying. Keeps telling me I'm going to die a terrible death. Think she's a little confused." He cracked his knuckles, and his grin got wider.

Draco nodded numbly, trying to assess the damage without getting too close. She'd been badly beaten. Her dress had once been cream coloured, but it was muddy red and torn. Her knees were torn to shreds. He was shamefully grateful the dress covered her thighs... He didn't want to know what had been done to her.

Luna was talking to herself, rocking back and forth. The bruising on her face was already starting to show, and he noticed she was trembling, her entire body shuddering as she swayed back and forth.

"Cruciatus?" Draco asked, recognizing the symptoms. He kept his voice steady. He would tear out Blaise's throat, he would.

"That was at the start," Blaise said, proudly.

"Did you actually question her?" Draco said, his anger starting to slip through. "What if she has information?"

"Draco, she was singing the Sorting Hat song for about an hour. She won't answer questions. She's batty. You're not getting anything useful from her. Besides, she's good and broken now."

"Well, I'm going to bloody try, seeing as how that's our actual job," he snapped.

Draco walked up to Luna's corner, trying to appear brave. Inside, he was falling apart. Luna, who had spoken to him kindly when he least deserved it. Luna, the one who smiled at him so brightly. Draco surmised, sadly, that he had begun to think of her as a friend. Oh, that was truly pitiful. Two strange conversations and she was still nicer to him than anyone else he knew.

Even worse, he hadn't thought of Luna at all when Blaise said they had a prisoner. He was too fixated on Hermione to realize that Luna was just as likely a target.

He didn't deserve friends like her.

Kneeling down, Draco glared, hoping the angry expression on his face would fool the others.

"I'm so sorry," he murmured.

She looked up at his face, her eyes surprisingly clear.

"I'm not meant to survive this," she said, calmly. "I never was."

"Don't speak like that," he hissed. "I'm getting you out of here."

"Draco, even if you do, I won't survive what they've done. You remember what I said, yes?"

He frowned at her, running through their previous conversations in his head.

"You don't mean - "

"Yes."

"When you said 'make it quick'... You meant - "

"Yes."

She continued to rock and talk to herself, and Draco didn't know if that was to keep his facade intact or because of the Cruciatus.

"Please don't make me do this," he pleaded quietly.

"I don't want to make you," she murmured. "I'm asking you as a friend."

He swallowed around the lump in his throat. "Friends don't... Friends don't..."

"Draco, I don't want to imagine what life would be like if I had to survive this. It's okay." She was lisping, and he realized belatedly that they had broken her teeth.

He would kill them all.

"You'll have to go her, after."

"Who?"

"Hermione," she said, patiently.

"Can we not talk about Granger right now? She's intolerable... She's -"

"She's all alone, like you. She's not as strong as she seems. You have to help her."

"Luna..."

"Please."

"Oi, Draco, are you chatting about the weather over there?" shouted Blaise. The goons around him chuckled.

Something inside Draco gave in. He hated, _hated_ that she was asking him for this. Asking for his mercy in the last way he wanted to give it.

He hated that she was also right. She probably wouldn't survive this, and subjecting her to another day of torture before her body gave in would be unimaginably cruel.

"You've been very kind to me," he said, smiling sadly.

"As you will be to me," she said.

"Make me angry at you," Draco whispered.

Luna smiled, a bright, sweet smile just like that time on the train.

"Thank you, Draco," she said.

And then she spat at him, watery blood hitting him in the face.

It was perfect, really. He was devastated to admit it.

"You disrespectful swine!" he roared. He raised his wand, remembering the valuable lesson his aunt taught him all those years ago.

Sometimes is was kinder to kill them quickly.

"Avada Kedavra." The green light enveloped Luna, who looked strangely peaceful, even as her eyes slipped shut.

"You were right," he sneered as the goons clapped and hooted. "Completely mental."

"You're legendary, mate," said Blaise.

Draco wiped his face on his sleeve with a shrug. "I'm going back to bed. Don't wake me unless it's important. I don't want to be disturbed."

He tried very hard not to look back at Luna's body as he left the dungeons. He didn't quite succeed.

* * *

Draco had no intention of going back to bed. He didn't even know if he'd ever be able to sleep again.

This time, he'd take the advice he was given. He had to find Hermione. He had to put some fucking effort into keeping the peace. He had to figure this out.

Tightening his cloak around his shoulders, he stepped out into the night, using one of the many passageways known only to the Malfoy family, as it should be. The thought of all those Death Eaters parading around his ancestral home made him furious. It should never have been chosen as their base. Even his father had hated it when he was alive. Fuck the Dark Lord and his bloody insane war.

It didn't take long before Draco was on the Tube platform, looking around half-heartedly for the sparrow. Eventually he saw it perched on a high beam, blinking down at him. It wasn't chirping this time. Strange. It was always so maddeningly chipper.

He supposed it didn't really matter. The whole world felt quiet to him. Perhaps the bird understood. The lump in his throat refused to go away, and he furiously wiped away the burning wetness from his eyes. Draco hadn't cried since he was at Hogwarts, right before Potter cursed him, actually. Crying was a sign of weakness.

Well, so be it. Thinking of Luna's broken mouth and her poor damaged body sure as hell didn't make him feel strong.

Why him? Why did it have to be him? Knowing he was responsible for ending Luna's life - an actual friend, if what she said was true - destroyed him.

A gust of wind announced the train's arrival, and he stepped on, elbowing his way to the corner seat and closing his eyes. Hermione would come for him, he had no doubt.

Swallowing thickly, Draco leaned his head against the window as the train left the station.

He would wait for her.

He would wait, and then he would explain himself.


	5. Chapter 5

_Hello dear humans. Sorry the last chapter was so intense... I swear things get better. I mean, this chapter is also pretty intense... But... Uh... *nervous laughter* Anyway, I love you guys! Your comments are keeping me going... I'm writing like a maniac to make sure I can post on schedule next week. I actually have a lot of writing to do this weekend. Like... A lot. Wish me luck! Next chapter will appear in your hot little laptops on Monday. xoxo_

* * *

Draco kept his eyes closed, listening to the sounds of the commuters and the rhythm of the tracks, desperately trying not to think about Luna's bleeding mouth, her crushed teeth, or the green light that swallowed her up so quickly. Why couldn't he have found a way out of it? Perhaps there was something he could have done... Subdue Blaise and his thugs, get her immediate medical attention, _anything_.

But of course, the Manor was not a place where he could successfully hide a prisoner, not without attracting the kind of attention that would get them both killed. He was still in recovery and certainly not at his best. There were too many ways for him to make things worse. If he thought torture by junior Death Eaters was bad, the Dark Lord finding him trying to rescue Luna would be unthinkable. Not even his mother would be able to escape punishment simply by virtue of being his blood.

Plus, there was the mysterious matter of his wand reappearing.

So many unknowns. So many loose ends. He _hated_ being in the dark like this.

It was only a few minutes before the chatter in the train car disappeared, as he expected it would. The _clack clack_ of the tracks continued, swaying the train gently.

She had found him.

He opened his eyes and he could see immediately that she knew. Her cheeks were blotchy and wet and she was eyeing him with a wary sort of dread.

"I'm sorry, Granger," he said, and this time, he meant it.

He heard her suck in a breath, and her face collapsed in grief.

"I was hoping she was wrong," Hermione said in a shaky voice. "I was hoping she was just mixed up when she told me what was going to happen to her."

"Did she get things wrong often?"

"Never, actually," she said, shaking her head with watery eyes. "Not when she'd seen it, you know... In her mind. It was foolish of me, but I couldn't imagine her dying like that. At your hand."

"Granger, they had tortured her... You don't really think that I - "

"No, I understand. I know what they did. I realize you were helping. She knew it as well. I just..."

She wrung her scarred hands, wiping them against her thighs nervously. "I've lost so many of them. Luna was one of the only friends I had left."

"You've got Potter," Draco said, bitterly. "You always seem to have Potter."

"Right," she said, smoothing her hands against her dirty jeans again. "Anyway, I don't know why I'm telling you all this."

"Because whether you like it or not, we've ended up stuck with each other, that's why. You know it's true. Luna obviously thought we needed to work together, and while I'm not going to pretend I'm chuffed about it, she's probably right."

Her cheeks flushed red, but she didn't argue the point.

"I'm trying to say... Fuck Granger, I hate talking about this stuff. I'm trying to tell you that I'm not terribly invested in my side winning anymore. I want the War to end, and I don't want the Dark Lord running things when it does, okay?"

She looked at him curiously, wiping her eyes. "I didn't realize Luna had such an effect on you."

"She was kind," he muttered. "It was nice to speak to someone who didn't assume the worst of me, even when they had every reason to."

"And was that it?"

"What do you mean?"

"Was that all there was to it?"

"Well I didn't want to snog her, if that's what you're implying. She just seemed to - " He broke off, feeling extremely awkward saying everything in the open. He had to keep the peace. He had to make an effort. "She seemed to think I had something to offer other than my kill count, alright?"

"Of course you do," Hermione said. "Even I can see that."

"You've not been terribly open about it," he growled.

"Well forgive me for not being a pathetic sycophant! I'm not going to flatter you when all you do is insult me!"

They both stopped, realizing they were arguing again. Draco gritted his teeth and looked down at his boots. It was going to take a lot of effort to keep his temper under control around her, but he had to do better.

"I'm just not used to talking to you, I suppose," she said, awkwardly. "About anything, let alone this."

"That's fair," he replied. "I know we don't exactly get along."

"Understatement," she muttered, gazing at the floor.

Draco looked at her carefully, trying to figure out where to take the conversation. They had both changed so much since their school days. The stress of war had aged Hermione a bit, but he was hardly immune to the effects of time. She was still pretty, of course - he could admit that he'd found her strangely attractive back in school, even if he was distracted by her blood status. Her beauty was different now, though. More severe. Anger and sadness shone through her features most of the time, even when she wasn't speaking. The carefree moments he remembered from Hogwarts had been strangled out of her. She looked like the weight of the world was on her shoulders.

She glanced up and caught him staring. He looked out the window.

"Seems strange, thinking of Luna as a Seer," Draco said, clearing his throat. "I always just thought she was insane."

This got a strangled laugh. "So did I! Divination and related magic always infuriated me - what an unreliable discipline!"

"Absolutely. 'Broaden your minds!'" he said, doing a poor imitation of Professor Trelawney, trying to lighten the mood. "What a load of nonsense."

"God, I know. I hated that woman," Hermione said, sniffing and wiping her cheeks on her sleeve.

"Granger? Hating a teacher?" he joked. "What next... A Death Eater riding the Tube?"

The both grinned at one another, and then, remembering why they were there, their smiles dropped.

That was a surprisingly easy exchange, thought Draco. Perhaps they weren't hopeless after all. He just had to put the effort in.

The thought made him feel momentarily brave.

"I hate that I had to be the one to end it. To... To kill her," Draco said. "It's so much harder than it used to be, for me." There was no point in hiding it anymore. If Hermione used this conversation against him later, well, so be it.

"I can imagine. Especially since you were friends."

"We barely knew each other."

"It's okay, Malfoy. She was your friend anyway. I know what it's like."

"How could you possibly know?" he said, distraught. "How could you know what this is like?"

The open look on her face closed off, and she turned her gaze away from him, chewing her bottom lip.

They spent some time in silence, watching the stations roll past.

Eventually, Draco said, "Tell me about the train trick. I know you want to."

Hermione exhaled, clearly relieved at the question.

"We mirror the train cars... Layer an empty magical one on top of the Muggle one. It's a brilliant spell, actually. Ghost trains. Quite exciting magic. McGonnagal thought that one up. At any rate, it allowed us to help families escape. They would hop on the Tube and we'd find them. Get them to safety. Hide them away. Find medical attention."

"But where would they go? The borders are closed. Britain is patrolled constantly. There's no way out of here."

Hermione's eyes sparkled the way he remembered them from school, when she was being particularly clever. "You already know the answer to that. There are over one hundred unused stations in the Underground. Some were closed, some never even opened. We've set up some sort of base in all of them at one point or another. Even your people couldn't find us there. Too Muggle for them. Too hidden. Besides, they are all heavily protected, and we moved around a lot. Some of them have become like little villages. It's the reason we've lasted this long."

Draco couldn't help but whistle, low and long. The network was far more extensive than he had realized. Too bad he couldn't tell his mother how wrong she had been when she said everything was deserted. It would have been a first. "Impressive."

"I certainly thought so."

"Showoff."

She shrugged, smiling at the tease in his voice.

"Not to complain or anything... But why is it that you felt comfortable sharing that information with me?"

She looked at him quite seriously. "Luna trusted you. I'm trying to trust you as well."

"Is that wise?"

She shrugged. "Not sure. I don't know how much I can tell you yet, but I'm willing to make an effort."

"What if I turn you in? What if I change my mind?" Draco was asking for himself as much as anything. He was still unsure what his role was in this. Was he officially changing sides? It seemed that way. Gods, the thought of turning his back on his mother was almost too much to stomach.

"I'll probably die in this war anyway, Malfoy. I might as well take the risk."

Draco frowned, bothered by the idea. "I'd rather you didn't."

"Take the risk?"

"Die, actually."

She shrugged. "We'll see. I honestly don't expect you to be very broken up about it when it happens."

"_If_ it happens, Granger. And all the same, I'd rather not have anyone else vanish on me." He didn't want to explain that he thought it was her trapped in the dungeons. He didn't want to explain how panicked he felt, how guilty. She wouldn't believe him, anyway.

He definitely didn't want to mention that her company, despite being far from comfortable, was something he needed right now. Blaise was the closest thing he had to a friend, and Draco was already plotting out Blaise's demise in horrific detail.

"Listen," Draco said, licking his lips, trying to decide how to broach the next topic. "Luna said there was a prophecy. She said I was involved. I have to assume it was also the reason you saved my life." He looked at her for a denial, and got nothing but skittish blinking. "Good, okay. So we seem to be working in tandem here, you and I, and I'm the only one who doesn't know the end game."

He leaned in. "Granger, let me help. Tell me the prophecy. Tell me the plan. Maybe I can actually be useful."

Hermione sighed. "I figured you would ask me that."

"And your answer?"

"I can't tell you everything, but I'll tell you the prophecy at very least. I need to show you something first, though. Our stop is coming up."

* * *

Hermione exited onto the platform and walked purposefully through the crowd, Draco following closely behind. They reached a nondescript door, seemingly used to keep janitorial supplies, and it opened silently under Hermione's wand. Draco watched, interested to see how she had been moving around unseen for so long.

None of the Muggles took notice. He'd have to ask her about it afterwards.

Inside was a long tunnel, clearly magical, as no Muggle would have gotten away with digging through the walls of the Underground like this. The whole thing would have collapsed.

"What do Muggles see if they get inside this door?" he asked as they stepped into the opening.

"Just a closet. Rusty pipes. And old mop. They'll get violently itchy though, so nobody has actually ventured in. They'd have to be accompanied by an Order member to access the tunnel anyway."

"Brilliant," he breathed.

He could have sworn she blushed slightly at the praise.

"Necessary," she replied. "The Order has so few members nowadays, but our work is sensitive, so we have to stay hidden. And, as you know, we help the Resistance in every way possible, so it had to be clever to work."

"So do you actually run the Resistance?"

She shook her head as they started down the tunnel. "They run themselves. Neville, actually, is heading them up. We provide guidance, we help, but they are the ones on the front lines. We have slightly different missions."

Draco tried to picture Neville Longbottom running an army like the Resistance. He shook the image out of his head. There was only so much he could grapple with at once.

"Luna said Potter is completing his final mission. What did she mean by that?"

Hermione stumbled, and Draco reached out his hand to steady her. She cleared her throat and mumbled "thanks" before continuing on. She didn't respond to his question.

Draco wasn't completely blind. Hermione had pretty much avoided the subject of Potter since their very first meeting. Something was clearly going on. He would need to know what had happened eventually, especially if they were going to be working together. It was hard to know what he was allowed to ask at this point. The last thing he wanted was to make her upset again. They were going to be depending on each other.

All the more reason to find out, he supposed.

"Granger."

"Not much longer," she said, her voice nervous and high pitched.

"Granger, please tell me."

They were going deeper into the ground, the passageway rougher and more narrow than before. Thank Merlin he wasn't claustrophobic.

"Granger. What happened to Potter?"

She stopped suddenly and he tripped, his hands landing on her waist as he tried to steady himself.

"Sorry, sorry," he murmured, pulling his hands off as quickly as he could. Gods, she was all bone under her shapeless clothes. Was she even eating?

"It's fine," she said. "It's just that we're here."

With the clink of a handle and the creak of a door, they stepped out into a series of interconnected rooms, not dissimilar in style to his former makeshift hospital. Old subway tile everywhere, cracked in places, with round arches that were occasionally bricked off. This space was clearly more permanent than the last one. Shelves of books lined the walls, and the ugly Muggle overhead lighting was replaced with old lamps. There was a battered couch in the corner and an old stove across the way. A rickety table sat in the middle of the room, surrounded by five chairs.

"This is what's left of the Order's headquarters," Hermione said, nervously. "Um, this is the common space. There are a few other rooms I can show you."

He followed obediently, amazed at the lengths she had gone to in order to stay hidden. No wonder the Death Eaters had never been able to find this. It was under London itself.

"This is one of the common bedrooms... Just a bunch of bunks, really. There are a couple more rooms like this." She guided him through another archway and down a hall. "That's the loo. That's a medical room, although we don't bring many injured down here for obvious reasons. We keep most people in the stations themselves."

They took a sharp right into a small room, this one crammed with books right up to the ceiling. Draco saw a small bed along one wall, and a long wooden table covered in cauldrons. One contained bubbling dark red liquid.

"Let me guess," said Draco. "Since it's 80% library, it's probably your room."

"Correct," she said, looking even more nervous now, her red hands fidgeting restlessly.

He looked more carefully at the laboratory. This wasn't an amateur setup. The ingredients he could see packed into the shelves above were tightly controlled, and in some cases, completely illegal. The potions books that appeared to be in regular use were also quite rare. In fact...

The book next to the main cauldron was a book he knew extremely well. _Potions of Olde_ was a tome his father had always kept under lock and key, repeating often that only three copies were ever made and that the potions within were the things of nightmares.

Something slotted into place in Draco's mind.

"This is Dark magic, Granger."

Her only response was a heavy swallow.

He walked closer to the bench, inspecting what was on display. "I know most of these ingredients. We've got them at the Manor, as I'm sure you can guess. Potions were always a specialty of mine." The dark red potion that was simmering cauldron was not something he could identify, but it smelled strongly of honey. Hermione's unsteady breathing echoed against the tiled walls. She sounded like she was about to pass out.

He turned around, eyeing her carefully. "What are you up to in here? Is this how you burned your hands? This stuff is really dangerous. Tell me you're not doing all this alone."

She swayed where she stood.

"Sit, Granger."

She shook her head violently, stubbornly.

"Hermione. Please sit down. We can talk about this."

She waffled, looking unsure, and finally sat down on the bed.

Draco took another long look at the book next to the cauldron. It didn't explain everything, but it explained an awful lot. Taking a seat next to Hermione on the bed, he debated how to ask her what he needed to know.

"Listen, I can take some guesses at what's going on here, but I'd rather hear it from you. You're obviously involved in something serious, and you're in very deep. I wasn't joking when I said we needed to work together, and I want to help, but you need to be honest with me."

She nodded beside him, but continued staring at the floor.

"Where are the other Order members?"

"Not many of us left. Down to five now, with Luna gone. Nobody stays here but me."

"You live here all alone?"

"Yes," she said, "But it's okay. I have a lot of work to do, anyway. I'm fine."

She was clearly not fine. Draco tried to imagine how isolated she must be, how lonely. He could see why Luna's death would hit her especially hard now. Luna was probably the only regular company she had. Not only that, but she would have lived here with Weasley before he died. What must it be like, having to carry on after that?

This brought him to a much heavier question, and he asked as gently as he could manage.

"Hermione, where's Harry?"

Tears slid down her cheeks as she turned to meet his gaze. She looked so small, so tired. She took a deep breath.

"Draco... Harry's been dead for two years."


	6. Chapter 6

_Woo! The halfway point! Maybe even beyond... This story ends on either Thursday or Friday depending on what my brain churns out in that amount of time. Your reviews are the highlight of my day. My favourite two: "Why does everyone seem to be dying nowadays?" and "I love that the two of them bonded over how they think divination is dumb." ANYWAY. This is a huge chapter plot-wise. Draco is still a bit of a wanker, Hermione is Hermione, maybe some tingly stuff happens, and a lot of you are about to feel very vindicated. I hope you enjoy! xoxo_

* * *

Draco stared at Hermione, trying to digest what she had just said. Harry Potter couldn't be dead. It wasn't possible.

"I don't understand," he said, because there was really nothing else to say.

"Harry's dead. He died two years ago in an accident... From a rebounded curse. It was an unexpected fight in Hogsmeade. Winter. It was brutally cold. We were transferring someone who was injured when the Death Eaters found us."

"Oh God, Granger, I remember that fight. I was there."

"All we ever see are the masks," she said, shrugging helplessly. "I never who's behind them. It happened so quickly we didn't even realize what what going on. Ron eventually checked his pulse, thinking he was just knocked out. It was a fluke - we don't even know whose wand was responsible. It could have been one of our own, for all we know. The blizzard saved us, in a way. Nobody saw he was down. We were able to create a diversion and we got his body out of there."

The diversion was Fiendfyre, Draco remembered. It certainly worked; his troops scattered in an instant. Draco had been furious. He didn't even realize Harry was there - he had been targeting Weasley.

"But if Harry's dead..." He almost didn't want to finish his own thought.

"If Harry's dead, your side won," she finished. "The War ended two years ago, the one we thought we were fighting, anyway. The Order's job has been to cover it up until we could figure out what to do."

Draco gaped at her. There was no way. Having the Manor under the Dark Lord's rule was terrifying enough, but losing everything to him? How stupid that this had been Draco's goal for so long, and now he wanted nothing to do with it.

"But what can we do?" he asked, trying to keep the desperation out of his voice. "I mean, the Dark Lord... He can't die."

"Not without Harry," she nodded.

"So... The potion?" he said, gesturing with his hand at the dark, sweet-smelling liquid bubbling away on the corner. "What's it for?"

"It's the best solution we could come up with," she said, evasively. "It will weaken Voldemort so he can finally be killed."

He narrowed his eyes. She was still withholding information. Obviously she wasn't sure if he was completely trustworthy - understandable, given how new their partnership was - but still. It irked him. Why couldn't she just tell him everything?

"Okay, ignoring the fact that we _still don't have Harry_, so killing the Dark Lord is still impossible," he said, trying to keep his temper in check, "How will you administer the potion? He's completely unreachable. The only two people who have access to him are senior Death Eaters, top of the ranks. You'd sooner convince a lioness to eat her cubs."

"I know... That has been a bit of a challenge."

Draco resisted the urge to scream. If what she said was true, the situation was hopeless. Truly hopeless. Nobody was going to feed Voldemort poison, no matter how effective it was. Luring him out might be a possibility, but then what? Eventually the Dark Lord would find out that his nemesis was gone, and then all of magical Britain would cede to him. They would never get out of this nightmare.

"Hold on. Where does Luna's prophecy come into this?"

"The prophecy is the reason we have any hope at all," she said. "We were so lost. I can't even describe the panic to you... The mourning... And we couldn't even share it with anyone. Every day was spent concocting plans that would ultimately go nowhere. Luna, meanwhile, has already started getting visions. Just small things at first, but they would all turn out to be accurate. We didn't know where her abilities were headed. One evening, we were all in the common room, and Luna goes rigid. I thought she was having a fit, but Molly urged me to leave her be. Eventually she started talking. Mumbling at first, but it got more clear, and eventually we could hear her saying 'the Dark Lord, the Dark Lord' over and over."

Draco leaned closer to Hermione. Their arms brushed, and he could feel her pulse hammering against her skin. "Did she finish?"

"Yes. She finally spoke the whole thing." She looked at him apprehensively.

"Tell me, Hermione. Just tell me what she said."

"I don't think you'll like it."

"Tell me," he said, holding on to his patience by a thread.

"'_The Dark Lord's killer will be a Malfoy_.'"

His mouth dropped open.

"A Malfoy? How...?"

"That's the prophecy."

"Not possible."

"But it is possible," she insisted. "Luna was the real thing, you know this. When your father died, we were left with you and your mother as our only possibilities. Your mother spent most of her time in the Manor... She seemed well protected and extremely loyal, so not a good option."

Draco snorted in agreement.

"You, on the other hand, had started visiting our territory without even realizing it. You seemed upset, disenchanted. We started to keep an eye on you, worried you'd end up in trouble. You and your mother are our only chance at winning this war, Draco. It has to be one of you. One you has to kill him."

"I don't think you understand what you're asking," said Draco, already feeling his stomach lurching at the thought.

"I think I do."

"No," he said, loudly, panic rising inside his chest. He remembered Timothy Randall after he was caught. He remembered watching him breathing, his body a bloody pulp, left like that, the cruelest existence he could have imagined. "You obviously don't understand. My mother would never agree to this. She hates your lot for killing my father. She'd kill you all if she got the chance. That leaves _me_. I'd have to figure out how to administer the poison without getting slaughtered, likely by my aunt or my own mother, and then what? I just use the Killing Curse? He's still the Dark Lord. I've seen what he's done to servants who disobey him. You can't honestly believe that will work!"

"Draco, there's more, just listen - "

"No, you listen, Granger. This plan is insane. How do you know your potion will succeed? I have no idea what you're brewing there. You think dabbling in a bit of Dark magic will kill you an evil wizard?"

She pulled back as if punched. "Do you really think I'm so naive?"

"Yes!" he said, standing up abruptly to pace the length of the small room. "Of course you are! You would win this war with hearts and rainbows if you could! There are a million ways for this to go wrong. You need something better."

"That's what I'm trying to say," she ground out. "I _have_ something better. This isn't just some half-baked plan... I would never have agreed if I wasn't sure it would work. You have no idea what it's cost me to go through with this."

"Cost you? Would you stop fucking talking in code?"

"Then stop interrupting me! I'm trying to tell you the rest! It doesn't just stop at the prophecy. I've already got help."

"Really," he growled. "Please enlighten me, then. How does your ridiculous plan redeem itself? What poor fool have you convinced to take on this suicide mission?"

"We have a new leader," she said, standing up, visibly furious. "They will administer the potion. I had hoped you could help with the very end, since you apparently want to be involved, but if you're too busy speaking to me as if I'm a child - "

"Don't say it like that, don't say it like I'm changing my mind... Of course I want to help. God Granger, the last thing I want is for the Dark Lord to stay in power. I just want to know that there's a chance I won't get my skin flayed off for trying!"

"We are all taking huge risks, Draco."

Draco sucked in a breath to retort, but was interrupted by a glowing orb catapulting into the room, eery white-blue light illuminating the arched walls. Silhouettes of people floated around the orb. They were moving... Running... Screaming. Draco raised his wand, unsure if he was under attack.

"Hermione Granger," said McGonnagal's voice, booming and sombre. "There has been an attack in Balnesmore. The devastation is widespread. Both sides have sustained huge losses. We require your help immediately."

"Neville," Hermione whispered. "That's where Neville had his base. I have to go!"

The glowing orb dissolved, leaving the two of them shell-shocked before Hermione jerked into action.

"Granger, we're not done here!"

"Draco, listen for once," she said as she rushed around the small room, stuffing supplies into a small bag that really should not be able to fit more than a book. "There's so much more I wanted to tell you, but the conversation was wasted on petty bickering. _Again_."

Draco flushed red, embarrassed. She was right, of course.

"Look, I'm sorry, I know I've got a temper - "

"Yes, you've always had a temper," she said, exasperated, bottling up the red potion and stoppering it tightly. "But there are bigger things going on here than your ego."

Draco watched her tossing two bottles of Dittany into her handbag, feeling helpless. Had he messed things up again? Was he ever going to get this right? Why couldn't he just shut up and let her finish?

"Draco, pay close attention," Hermione said, suddenly standing very near to him, their noses only inches apart. "Tell me where your father was killed."

"Wh... What?"

"Tell me where he was killed."

"At the battle in Fronders, of course. Killed by the Order."

"What if I told you your father never actually made it to that battle?"

"What? Don't be stupid... Of course he did."

He _must_ have.

Didn't he?

"Wait... What do you mean?"

With a sad smile, Hermione raised her hand and gently brushed her fingers across Draco's cheek. They were frigid and startlingly soft. Draco was stunned at the action, and kept himself very still, not wanting to interrupt the bewildering gesture. He held his breath, thoughts racing.

Had he missed something? This was practically... Well... This was _affectionate_. There was no other word for it. Was she just trying to comfort him? Or was it something more?

He waited for her to realize her mistake, to snatch her hand away and make an excuse, to do _anything_ that would stop the tendril of hope from taking root in his chest.

She did no such thing.

Slowly, Draco began to lean into the touch, wanting to warm her hands, wanting to take them into his own. Oh God, why did this feel so good? Was he that starved for touch? Having someone caress his face should not possibly feel like this, and yet...

"You always make it so difficult," she whispered.

"Make what so difficult?" he murmured, every nerve in his body humming with suppressed reaction. He wanted to fold himself against her. He wanted to bury his face in her neck and just stay there for a few hours, breathing her in.

Jesus fuck, what had she done to him?

"Everything," she said, taking a shaky breath. "Look, I've given you all the information you need to figure it out. You're smart... I've probably never told you that, but I've always thought so. Unbearably arrogant, but clever as anything."

"Now you admit it," he said, turning his cheek fully into her hand, his eyes slipping shut for a brief moment. She couldn't possibly leave now. A mere touch and he was fucking useless. "Don't go."

"I have to," she said, visibly conflicted. "I really do. People need my help." The realization seemed to snap her out of the moment, and she stepped back, dropping her hand. Draco felt the loss keenly against his skin.

"Think about what I've told you, and if I survive this battle, I'll see you soon."

"_If_ you survive? What's that supposed to mean? Merlin Granger, you can't just drop that on me and leave."

"I'm sorry. I've got no choice."

"I expect you to come back in one piece," he said, feeling anxious as she slung her bag over her shoulder. "I still have to yell at you for leaving me in this mess."

"I'll do my best," she said with a smile. "Now use that brain of yours, because you need to figure out where you stand, and you need to do it soon."

Then she reached behind to the bookshelf closest, touched the spine of a nondescript book, and blinked out of existence.

* * *

There was nothing left to do. Draco trudged out of Headquarters, head spinning, walking slowly up through the tunnel and finally slipping out of the maintenance closet. It was early morning now... Commuters were starting to trickle into the Tube. Blinking vacantly at the ground, Draco ran his fingers across his cheek.

Hermione had ordered him to think. Apparently he was going to do as he was told.

As he walked to the platform, he berated himself repeatedly for losing his temper again - he'd lost track of how many times he'd fucked up a simple conversation because he let his mouth overtake his mind. Quite frankly, when she told him who would have to kill the Dark Lord, he panicked. Full stop.

What a gutless reaction. And why had it happened to begin with? Not long ago, Draco was waiting to die, hoping for it, even. Then came the curse, and of course Draco panicked again, practically begging Hermione to intervene.

He was a coward, that much was obvious. But there was something else, too. Something that was becoming increasingly undeniable. Draco frowned as he shuffled into the crowded train car. No seats for him this time. He sighed and grabbed the bar, trying to stay focused.

The truth was that he might have found something to live for. A vague hope for the future. A person who was interesting to talk to, who was alone like him, who had seen the worst of humanity and still put one foot in front of the other.

Perhaps it was ridiculous to be sentimental about his strange relationship with Hermione - they barely managed to converse for five minutes before clawing at each other's throats - but at least with her he didn't feel like a fake. She knew what he was about, she'd known him at his most despicable, and yet, here she was. Trying to involve him. Trying to win the War despite insurmountable odds.

"You cannot possibly have developed an interest in staying alive because of Granger," he mumbled under his breath. "She probably doesn't even like you."

The Muggle next to him looked at his sideways and then turned slightly away, not wanting to be bothered with the crazy man with the shaggy blond hair.

"And you don't even like her." There was a pause. Draco rolled his eyes and huffed his breath in annoyance. He couldn't even convince himself of his own fiction.

Hermione Granger was intelligent, dangerous and heartbroken. She was as damaged as he was. She was scarred and tired and desperate. She was unpredictable.

And the truth was that he quite liked her. _  
_

Gods, how embarrassing. If he ever made it out of this, his mother would disown him.

The train pulled into one of the larger stations, and his car emptied out before starting to fill up again. Draco elbowed his way to the corner seat, sitting down heavily and making himself look as unfriendly as possible so the Muggles kept their distance.

Fine. He could admit to his ridiculous fondness for Hermione, but that wasn't the biggest puzzle here. Draco felt his cheeks colour slightly when he remembered what she had said, calling him clever, touching his face. If she thought he was smart, he would damn well not disappoint her. Maybe, if he got it right, she'd even touch him again.

_Think_.

Fact: the Order had a new leader who had somehow agreed to administer the poison to the Dark Lord. Ludicrous, but he would have to take Hermione at her word.

Fact: Luna's prophecy was accurate, because Luna was a Seer, and everything she had foreseen had come true. This meant either Draco or his mother would have to kill the poisoned Dark Lord.

Fact: Narcissa was a loyal, senior Death Eater. She was the Dark Lord's confidant. She would never betray him. In fact, she was so hell bent on avenging Lucius's death that the likelihood of her joining forces with the Order was utterly laughable.

Something shifted in Draco's mind as the walls of the Tube shot by outside the glass.

Wait. What was it she said about her instincts?

_They tell me to avenge your father and punish the people who took him from us. They tell me to crush my enemies mercilessly_.

But Hermione had said Lucius may not have been killed at Fronders. Was Hermione telling the truth? She was brutally honest, as a general rule. That meant...

If Lucius never made it to that battle, he was already dead before it started.

If he was already dead before it started...

If he was already dead before it started, he was likely killed at the Manor.

By one of his own.

_I believe, however, that after some introspection, you will come to the same conclusions as I did, and you will act accordingly_.

Draco stood up so quickly his vision swam.

"Bleeding fuck," he muttered, pushing his way to the door and the next station rolled into view. The train screeched to a halt and Draco threw himself out the doors, running up the steps and out of the Underground. He needed to get back to the Manor. It would be nearly empty if there was an active battle taking place, all the easier to...

Merlin, _the battle_. Was that a set-up too? He'd been so blind! What better way to put a plan in action than to get rid of potential witnesses. Keep all the Death Eaters busy, keep them away from the real event.

Draco raced though the streets of London, looking for a quiet corner, frantically trying to calm his brain. The scenario that had slotted into place suggested a plan so unlikely, so bizarre, he was tempted to laugh at the ridiculousness of it all.

Except that he was becoming more and more certain he had figured it out. He had understood what Hermione was getting at. He'd cracked it.

Ducking into a damp alley, he reached into his pocket for his wand. Upon pulling it out, something fluffy drifted to the ground. Draco bent down and grabbed it.

A feather. A small one, light brown.

The last piece of the puzzle clicked into place.

* * *

The Manor was indeed deserted, and Draco had a strong sense of deja-vu. He broke into a run the second he Apparated, heading straight for his mother's quarters. Nothing but empty hallways and grumbling portraits greeted him as he made his way through the old house, more sure with every step he took.

Finally, he reached his mother's door.

Draco took a moment to calm his breathing and centre himself. Then, he raised his hand, and knocked.

The door opened.

Narcissa was sitting in her favourite wingback chair, black leather and silver studs. She looked every bit the powerful sorceress - a black lace gown with a simple velvet choker, blonde-white hair pulled back neatly, blood-red lips. It made her look extremely intimidating. She kept her face carefully neutral, but Draco knew better. She had clearly been waiting for him.

"Mother," he said, nodding.

"Hello, darling," she said, smiling and standing up to greet him. She pecked him on the cheek and then stepped back. "Any luck in with your mission?"

"I believe so," he said, hands behind his back, beginning to circle her. "Things are a lot more clear now."

"In what way, dear?" she said, watching him with an arched brow.

"Well," he said, coming to a stop. "I've learned that I have been incorrectly crediting my father for passing along his ability to strategize and scheme. I always thought he was the planner in our family."

Narcissa stayed still, watching him calmly.

"And why would you say that, Draco?"

"Because it's you, isn't it?" he said. "You're the key. You're the planner. You make or break this war."

She lifted her chin slightly, challenging him to finish his thought.

"You're the Dark Lord's closest ally," he whispered. "And mother, you're also the leader of the Order."


	7. Chapter 7

_Hi lovelies! Glad you guys liked the plot twist! I know some of you are bummed this fic won't be longer, but I had it pretty cleanly planned out and I didn't want to pad it with anything extra. I promise to write more stories for you after this one. There will still be a lot going on in the next few chapters, so hopefully you won't be bored. _

_FULL DISCLOSURE: I'm still writing the chapter after this one. I haven't even started the one after that. Still, I made a commitment to do daily posting, so I will do my very best not to fall behind. If I didn't work full time, this would be a whole lot easier! GAH! NO SLEEP FOR ME._

_Thank you for your continued kick-ass reviews! I love seeing all the old and new names popping up. Enjoy the chapter! xoxo_

* * *

The silence was deafening.

Narcissa face transformed, a genuine smile breaking through as she turned her palms towards the ceiling in a placating gesture. "You figured it out. I knew you would."

"Did you really?"

"Of course. You are my son, after all."

"It took me longer than I would have liked," Draco admitted. "I didn't believe my own conclusions at first."

"Naturally," she said. "Miss Granger was very worried about how you would take it. She said she didn't know if you were ready."

Draco grimaced. "She wasn't entirely wrong. I haven't exactly been very consistent with her."

"I think you'll find she's quite patient."

Draco rubbed the heels of his palms against his eyes until he saw stars. This was going to be a long, strange conversation. "It's going to take me a while to get used to you talking about her so casually, mother."

"Why don't you sit down, then," said Narcissa, gesturing to the twin wingback chair across from her own. "We have much to discuss. Would you like some tea?"

"Firewhiskey would be more fitting, if you don't mind."

She shrugged and made her way to the liquor cabinet and unstoppered the crystal decanter, pouring him a generous glass.

"Thank you," he said, accepting the drink and taking a sip that burned him all the way down. After a brief pause, he took another. He was going to need fortitude to have this discussion. His own mother had been lying to him for months now... All those conversations they had were complete inventions. That said, he'd been just as dishonest, vacillating endlessly about his loyalty. There was no reason for her to think she could let him in on the plan.

Still. What a secret she had been keeping.

"Now," she said, clasping her hands and taking her seat. "Tell me what you know."

"I know that you somehow learned that father didn't die at the Battle of Fronders. I suspect that's what started this whole thing off."

"Correct," she said. "And I almost didn't find out at all. I overheard the portraits gossiping about it, actually. They clammed up as soon as I started to question them, but as there's very little you can do to properly torture a portrait, I asked the House Elves to do some research into our house guest."

"They spied on the Dark Lord for you? That's risky."

"I am the mistress of this house," she said. "They answer to me above anyone else."

Draco nodded. That made sense, of course. House Elves weren't simply loyal, they were bound to their masters for life, Dark Lord or not. "And what did they learn?"

"They overheard a conversation between the Dark Lord and Bella," she said, suddenly looking very worn down. "There had been an argument. The Dark Lord was furious with Lucius for questioning his methods. Lucius felt the War had dragged on too long - he felt they could do more to change the tide, to emerge victorious. The Dark Lord lost patience. Lucius didn't survive." She looked up, eyes swimming. "Bella knew. She's the one who told me he was killed by the Order. She modified people's memories so they would back up her story. I was beside myself with grief - I should have questioned it further, but it all seemed so logical."

"Aunt Bella did that?" said Draco, chest aching as he thought of his father in his final moments, murdered by the person who was supposed to be leading them to victory, betrayed by his own sister-in-law. "I can't believe... Mother, she's family. Why would she cover it up?"

"Power," Narcissa said, simply. "Power I intend to take away."

"Is that why you sought out Hermione?"

"Indeed. It was difficult to get her to meet with me - she's a very cautious young woman. She doesn't trust very easily."

Draco swallowed another wave of guilt for constantly losing his composure around Hermione. No wonder she didn't tell him everything immediately. He behaved like a bloody wildfire.

"Luckily for me, Miss Lovegood spoke the prophecy not long after, and Miss Granger finally agreed to meet. That's when I learned of her... Predicament."

"You mean Harry?"

"Indeed. The poor girl was so destroyed. She was losing hope rapidly. That's when we came up with our plan."

"And this is the part I'm still not completely clear on," said Draco, leaning in. "The plan appears to be for you to administer poison to the Dark Lord so he will be weak enough to die when the time comes. Mother, respectfully, I don't see how any poison will succeed, no matter how devious. The Horcruxes will keep the Dark Lord alive regardless of how weak he is."

"Ah, but this is where you underestimate your former schoolmate," she said, shaking her head. "She has taken on quite a challenge to get this far. Horrible, really, what she's had to do, but she insisted that she be the one to do it..."

"Did what? How horrible are we talking, mother?" Draco felt a deep sense of foreboding at her answer, remembering the books on Dark magic, the dangerous ingredients, the sweet-smelling red potion.

Narcissa twitched, looking uncomfortable. Draco was instantly suspicious of what she had done, what she had encouraged. His mother was brilliant, but she was also ruthless. She would not have let anything stand in between her and the success of this mission.

"Let's say, for example, that Miss Granger and her friends have destroyed all the Horcruxes save one."

"All save one? How... Nevermind, I suppose that shouldn't surprise me. She's an exceptional witch."

"Agreed."

"So if there's only one left, where is it hidden?"

Narcissa examined her hands and then looked up, meeting Draco's eyes.

"It was inside of Harry Potter."

Draco blinked at his mother, swirling the Firewhiskey around in his glass as he worked out what that meant.

"The Horcrux wouldn't have died with Harry, though," he said, slowly. "It doesn't die with something simple like the Killing Curse."

"Correct."

Draco cursed under his breath, his hand beginning to tremble. He knew what that meant. He finally understood.

"Please tell me I'm wrong."

"You haven't told me your theory."

Draco's hand shook harder, splashing his Firewhiskey over his wrist. He put down the glass and flexed his fingers, feeling slightly ill. The liquid dripped off his skin.

"Please tell me Hermione didn't have to... Didn't have to pull the Horcrux out of Harry's body. Please tell me that potion is not made of his blood."

"It was the only way," said Narcissa, quietly.

"Mother!" he yelled, standing up suddenly, livid with rage. "How could you make her do that?"

"I didn't make her do anything!" she protested. "Do you have any idea how stubborn she is? The body was kept in stasis; it was perfectly preserved. I presented her with options. She chose the plan most likely to succeed."

"Surely there was something else you could have suggested. He was her best friend. You _knew_ she was headstrong... Did she have to do this all alone?"

"She insisted!"

"Fuck sakes, mother, it's destroying her!"

"War destroys us all."

"So what," he snarled. "She has to poison what's left of someone she loves while you get the glory? Is that it? She hands you the potion, you administer it, Avada Kedavra, and that's it? What's left of her when this is over?"

"How do you know there was much of her left when I found her? Lucius - " Narcissa broke off, visibly distraught. "Lucius killed the man she loved. Most of her friends are dead. This plan gave her _hope_."

"Sod the plan!" he roared. "How do you even know the potion is going to work?"

"Because it's been working already!" she seethed. "Why do you think I've been meeting with the Dark Lord every single day? Why do you think he's been in decline for the past six months? I haven't been sitting idle, Draco."

"Wait... What are you saying?"

"I'm saying," she snapped, standing up to her full height, "That we couldn't take the chance of using only a single dose. Every day the Dark Lord takes a glass of mead. Given that mead is distilled from honey, adding a sweet-smelling potion to each drink has gone more smoothly than I could have hoped. He has been slowly, unknowingly consuming the poisoned remains of the last Horcrux. I am nearly done my mission."

She took another step towards Draco, her face twisted by fury. "He killed Lucius. In return, I will _finish_ him."

Draco stared, awestruck. "How many more doses does he need?"

"One. Tonight. And now that you know, there is no reason to wait on the rest of the plan. You will join me, and we will give him the death he deserves."

"Tonight? Are you serious?" His head was spinning. This couldn't be happening.

"Why do you think I ordered the battle in Balnsmore? I knew you would figure it out after you left to find Miss Granger. It seemed like the best option - we can't afford to have any interruptions."

"Jesus mother," Draco breathed. "You are terrifying."

"Flattery," she sniffed, appearing to calm down. "All that matters now is finishing the job. Given that the prophecy doesn't state which one of us must cast the final curse - "

"Of course I'll come," Draco said, cutting her off. "Merlin, after what you and Hermione have accomplished... Of course. I want to do my part."

"It could be extremely dangerous. He's still the Dark Lord, and he will be frantic once he realizes what we've done."

"Don't care," he said, shaking his head. "I owe it to father. And to you. And to Hermione, if she ever consents to see me again."

"Why wouldn't she?" asked Narcissa, furrowing her brow.

"Because she has no reason to seek my company after this is finished," he said, shrugging, trying to appear unbothered. "I'm not exactly a prize for someone like her, mother. My one actual skill was killing soldiers of the Light, but you can imagine that won't give us much to talk about."

A look of clarity crept across Narcissa's face.

"You've taken a liking to her."

Draco decided not to answer, draining the remains of his Firewhiskey and looking out the window. "When are we doing this?"

"In half an hour," she said, graciously letting the matter drop, but not without a look of extreme interest. "Can you meet me back here at that time?"

"Of course."

* * *

Draco sat on his bed, feeling completely numb. After everything he had learned, he could still scarcely believe it was really happening.

His mother leading a double life.

Hermione Granger performing heart-wrenching Dark magic to win the War.

The impending demise of the Dark Lord.

Hearing about what Hermione had endured for the sake of the mission flooded him with emotions. Sympathy, of course, although it hardly seemed to be a strong enough word for what he felt. Grief was perhaps more fitting. To think of how Hermione used to be during her early years at Hogwarts - back when she still had her two best friends, before the Dark Lord's return - was extremely distressing. Her innocence and her youth had been stolen from her. Now there was the mission to focus on, and really, that might be all she had. If he was being honest, Draco had a sneaking suspicion that Hermione wasn't thinking very far beyond the end of the War in terms of her own life. She simply didn't expect to last that long.

She wasn't alone, either. Draco wasn't stupid - knew he might not survive this mission. This could be _it_. It panicked him less now that he knew the whole story. Both Hermione and his mother had taken huge risks to get to this point. Putting his life on the line seemed like the least he could do, even though, now more than ever, he wanted to be there once the smoke cleared. Just to see what it was like.

It would be infinitely better if Hermione was by his side.

He shuddered, the chill in his room creeping into his bones. The window was open, and just as he wondered if he should pull it shut, Draco saw a sparrow on the ledge.

Something fluttered in his chest. He didn't expect her to come back. Perhaps things weren't hopeless after all.

"How long have you been sitting there, Granger?"

The bird hopped a sightly closer, tilting its head.

"It's okay. I figured it out. I'm not _completely_ thick."

After a pause, the sparrow hopped fully inside, flapped its wings and transformed into a very disheveled-looking Hermione Granger. She stumbled a bit, and then righted herself, straightening her jumper. Draco shook his head and stood up, still amazed at how much he had missed. The clues were there, but he just didn't piece them together. Of course she had been the sparrow who had flitted about his favourite Tube station. It would have been a perfect way to keep an eye on him, not to mention being able to move around London unnoticed. Genius, really.

Draco eyed her, surprised at how quickly his heart rate sped up at the mere sight of her rumpled frame. There appeared to be someone else's blood splattered across her jeans. Her hair was a disaster.

She looked fucking _lovely_.

"Hello," she said, looking around his bedroom awkwardly. "I don't usually let you see me, you know."

"Oh? Do you visit my bedroom often?" he smirked.

She blushed crimson. "You know that's not what I meant."

"I know, I know," he sighed. "Don't get your knickers in a twist. You and my mother are too clever for your own good. You're the sparrow and she's the raven, yeah? Plotting world domination one feather at a time? I saw you both on the Tube platform that day."

"So you really do know," she said, looking surprised. "Did she tell you that part?"

He glared at her. "I figured it out, thanks very much. Took me a while, but it's not like it was the most obvious of puzzles. The last thing I ever expected was for you to be working together."

"Yes, well, that was the idea. Birds were logical... Easy to move around unseen, easy to meet up without causing suspicion."

"It worked. Fooled us all. Well done, you."

"You can give your mother the credit," said Hermione. "I wasn't terribly keen about any of it at first."

"Can't really blame you," he replied, smirking again. "She's a scary woman."

Hermione laughed, just as he was hoping. The tension eased slightly.

There was a natural pause in the conversation, and Draco rocked back on his heels, hyper-aware of all the things that were being left unsaid. He knew where he stood, as strange as it was, but he was properly confused about her feelings towards him.

It was that bloody_ touch_. You can't touch someone that gently and despise them. It just wouldn't make sense... Would it?

At the same time, it wouldn't make sense for her to actually like him either. He'd spent the majority of their conversations being completely acerbic, Hogwarts years included. He had yet to do anything that was actually _likeable_.

Draco cursed himself, feeling unusually self-conscious. This was ridiculous. You'd think he'd never fancied someone before.

"You alright?" Hermione said, and Draco blinked at her, realizing he'd been silent for much too long.

"So what would I be?" he blurted out.

"Excuse me?"

"If I joined your little Audubon club. What sort of bird would I be?"

A cautious smile played on her lips. "You know who Audubon was?"

"He was a wizard," Draco scoffed. "Of course I know who he was."

Hermione was smiling widely now. "Would you believe I actually didn't know that?"

"Not sure if that's possible, Granger. Are you avoiding my question?"

"I'd never dream of it. What sort of bird would you like to be?"

"An eagle, naturally," he said. "Powerful, strong hunters - " He stopped, noting the strange look on Hermione's face. He realized quickly that she was trying not to laugh.

"An eagle?" she said, visibly biting the inside of her cheek to keep her expression in check.

"Problem?" he scowled. "What do you think I'd be then, if you're so clever?"

"You'd be a peacock, of course." She was grinning.

"I resent that," he sniffed. "Dreadful birds."

"Oh, they're not all bad," she said. "Lovely plumage, for one. Surprisingly brave. They were symbols of immortality in ancient Greece, and they're often depicted as being the guardians of royalty."

"Nice plumage? Why Granger, was that a compliment?" He had intended only to tease her, perhaps get her to blush again, but instead, she looked at him strait on, still with that little smile.

Holy fuck, Draco thought. It actually was a compliment.

He could not possibly leave that be.

"Don't they also have elaborate rituals for courtship?" he murmured.

The blush he had been waiting for began to crawl across her cheeks.

"Can't remember," she said, her voice squeaky.

Draco smiled at her. Oh, this was too good. He was about to leave on the most dangerous mission of his life, and Hermione Granger had feelings for him. It was a bloody miracle. He'd better do something useful before she changed her mind.

It was finally time for him to learn how to be brave.

"Seems unnecessary," he said.

"I'm sorry?"

"The elaborate courtship rituals," he said, rocking back on his heels again with a grin. "Seems unnecessary. All that posturing, all the showing off. You don't really need to do that when you've found the right match."

She blinked at him. "Well. It's evolutionary. In fact, I once read a book about - "

Draco cut her off by setting his lips against hers. He was thrilled to feel only a second of hesitation before she opened her lips and pulled him in closer, making the most delicious sound of surprise in the back of her throat. His hands tightened on her waist, and then moved up into her hair, and then smoothed themselves across her back as if they couldn't decide where they should land. He deepened the kiss, and she clutched at him in return. Running his tongue along her bottom lip, his knees nearly gave out when she answered back, flicking her tongue against his and sliding her fingers into his hair. The kiss became more heated, and when Hermione gave his hair a desperate tug Draco couldn't silence the moan in the back of his throat. He tightened his arms around her, crushing their bodies together, feeling absolutely electrified.

They pulled apart, panting. Draco felt his stomach drop when he realized her eyes were wet.

"Was that... Not what you wanted?"

"You're going tonight, aren't you," she said, her voice rising in pitch the way it did when she was anxious. "I just put it together. Now that you know, there's no reason to wait."

He nodded, desperately trying to think of a way to wipe the look of sheer panic from her face. "I'm meeting my mother downstairs in a moment."

"Fuck," she whispered. "Fuck, I shouldn't have... Look, could we just forget - "

"No! No Hermione, don't ask me to forget that."

"You must. You can't be distracted tonight. It was stupid of me - "

"Look, I'm the one who initiated it - "

"Yes, but I responded, and I shouldn't have... I shouldn't have even come here."

"Why not?" he said, grabbing her shoulders as she tried to back away. "Tell me that. For the first time since this war started, I feel like I actually have a reason to fight. Hermione, don't ask me to bury that."

"I'm asking!"

"Why?" he pleaded. "Tell me why."

"Because nobody ever comes back!" she yelled, pulling out of his grip. "Everybody dies. Everybody leaves. Don't ask me to care about you if I have to grieve you later tonight. I can't do it. I cannot physically go through that again."

Draco stared, momentarily speechless.

"I promise I'll come back to you," he said, pleading. Didn't she see? He had stumbled across something he never thought he'd have. There's no way he was going to die before seeing it through. Gods, he could actually be with her. She _wanted_ him. Draco Malfoy, an absolute failure of a man, had somehow gained Hermione Granger's affections. How could he not come back to that?

"Don't make promises you can't keep." She was angry now, and he couldn't tell if she was more furious with herself or with him.

"I _swear_ to you."

"Well then, off you go," she said, cold and closed off, gesturing to the door. "Don't make a liar out of yourself."

"Hermione, don't do this."

"_Go_." She tossed a vial of dark liquid at him, and he caught it mid-air.

Frowning, Draco opened his mouth to protest. He wasn't above begging. What he wanted was to kiss her for several hours until there wasn't a doubt left in her head, fuck the mission right to hell, but something made him stop.

The truth was, he couldn't blame her for protecting what was left of her battered heart. It was impossible to imagine going through what she had to still be standing in one piece.

Once this was all over, however, he planned to snog her until she forgot her own name.

"Alright, I'll go," he said, trying to project as much calm as he could. "If you stay in the Manor, don't leave this room. If anything bad happens, you get yourself out of here."

"Of course."

"I mean it, Granger. No heroics."

"Promise," she said, taking several deep breaths and then she attempted a smile. A rogue tear escaped down her cheek, and although she wiped it away hastily, Draco felt his heart creak under the weight of it all. He stepped out of the room and looked back at her hunched figure. She looked completely defeated.

"I'll see you soon," he reiterated, and then forced himself to shut the door, closing off the broken sight of her as she swayed where she stood.

He could have sworn he heard her muffled sobs all the way down the hall.

A growl made its way up his throat.

He would make it back. He would succeed. Fuck that parasite who had been living in his home for six years too long. After what the Dark Lord had done to his family, after what he had done to Hermione, Draco would make him grovel.

His spine straightened as he walked, his shoulders shifted back, his chin tilted up, and Draco could feel himself slowly transforming into the man he used to be.

This wasn't the Draco Malfoy who broke down from the strain of war. This was the Draco Malfoy who had an undisputed winning kill count, who was the heir to this manor, and who was the last in a proud line of Malfoy wizards.

Not even the Dark Lord would keep him from what he wanted.


	8. Chapter 8

_So... I meant to make this chapter cheerful. Isn't that funny? Hahahaaaa. Anyhoo. Tomorrow's chapter will probably wrap the story up, and yes, there will be a lot of nice things going on to make up for all this angst. I've also added the final (and my personal favourite) twist, one I've had in my head for the past year. Keep reminding yourself of that when this chapter tries to kill you. Your reviews are just the very best. I'm loving them all. Keep them coming. xoxo_

* * *

Narcissa was waiting for him, and Draco stepped into her room quietly, nodding his greeting.

"This is yours," he said, slipping the vial into her hand. "Can we go?"

With a puzzled expression, Narcissa turned the vial over in her hand, eventually looking up to meet his eyes. "Did Miss Granger stop by? I was expecting her to leave it down here."

"I guess she changed the plans," Draco said with a brusque shrug, looking everywhere but at his mother. "Can we get on with it, please?"

Gods, this was going to be awkward. Draco was already fighting the colour that was threatening to crawl across his cheeks. He knew that she would work it out in an instant - she was much too clever for her own good, and he was a lousy liar in her presence. Besides, she'd already figured out that he liked Hermione; it had taken her only a moment to see right through him.

His only possible defence was to say as little as humanly possible. Just because she could guess what happened didn't mean he actually had to volunteer information.

Narcissa gave him a long, knowing look, which he avoided by glaring at the ceiling.

"Certainly," she said, leading him away from her quarters and toward the East Wing. They walked in merciful silence for several minutes.

"Your lips are a bit red," she said, conversationally. "Are you dehydrated?"

"Oh my _God_ mother," Draco snapped in a whisper.

"I'm only asking. She is a bright young woman, and I'd be pleased to hear - "

"I'm glad you approve, truly, but I really don't want to talk about it."

"I don't see why not." There was a slight pout in her voice, and Draco rolled his eyes. So much for not offering up any information.

"Mother, this is quite literally the most dangerous mission I've ever been assigned," he said, trying to keep his voice down. Even if the Manor was empty, he didn't want to take any chances being overheard for discussing treason. The portraits, especially, came to mind. "I'd just like to focus on getting through in one piece."

"Ah, so you're worried you may not survive?" she asked, guiding him around a corner without slowing down her stride.

"Naturally. Aren't you?" He quickened his pace to keep up.

"Not particularly. I will have my revenge. I don't plan on dying before that happens."

"Mother," he frowned. "You must realize that battle doesn't always go the way we intend."

"I'll have to defer to you on that one, darling," she said with a smile.

Draco clenched his teeth. Lovely. Now she was just placating him. He knew this routine too well... She'd made up her mind about how the encounter would go - there was no force on the planet that would sway her. Draco had been to more battles than he could count, and if he had learned a single thing from his experiences, it was that nothing ever went as planned.

Try telling that to the most stubborn woman in the world.

Draco paused, momentarily horrified. He couldn't decide if his mother deserved that title, or the woman waiting in his room.

Jesus. He was surrounded. He must be a goddamn _masochist_.

"At any rate," he said, hoping to shut close the lid on the discussion for good, "Hermione has barely had a chance to figure out how she feels. I'm not going to rush her into anything. Maybe this is... I don't know... A stress reaction for her or something." Draco already felt extremely invested, and that was only with a single kiss. Ridiculous. Was that how it normally worked? He'd never done anything like this before. Quick flings were more his style, and it had been years since he'd bothered.

"I hate to tell you this Draco, but Hermione Granger knows exactly how she feels, and has known for some time."

Draco slowed to a halt, staring at his mother.

"Explain."

Narcissa sighed, and Draco could have sworn she rolled her eyes. "Hermione _volunteered_ to keep watch over you, even though there were other options. She chose the form of the sparrow specifically because she saw you frequenting the Tube and thought it would be fitting. She checked on your safety constantly, often knowing more about your mental state than I did. Sound casual to you?"

His mother took a step closer, giving Draco a hard stare and crossing her arms tightly. "I can read people very effectively, Draco. She may have hated the things you stood for, but she became quite attached to seeing you unguarded. Do you really think she hasn't figured you out? Do you think she's completely blind? That girl sees everything. She knows what you're like when nobody was watching. She had _months_ of observing your human side warring with your inner monster. That's more than enough time to see the man you really are, and certainly enough time to develop feelings for you."

Draco could not believe what he was hearing.

"You must have read that wrong... She hated me until recently. Despised me."

"For Merlin's sake darling, you're not exactly approachable, and let's not forget your allegiance. You were still a Death Eater. Of course she despised you, but it's not terribly difficult to understand, is it?"

Draco looked at her blankly.

Narcissa sighed again. "Honestly, Draco. She grew fond of you without meaning to, and then became conflicted when she realized what was happening. Fairly simple. I don't imagine her confusion was helped by the fact that you were so horrid to her when she tried to save your life. Why do you think you both argue so easily?"

"You're not seriously suggesting we argue as much as we do because she has feelings for me."

"No. I'm suggesting you both have feelings for each other, and you probably always have, to some degree."

Draco sputtered indignantly.

"Please. I know my own son. Look at the chemistry! I refuse to believe you didn't nurse a crush when you were at school together."

"Mother!"

"Are you going to deny it?"

Draco felt his face heating up and bit his cheek. How could she possibly have known about that?

"All I'm saying is that whatever happened this evening has been building up for some time," his mother said, speaking more gently now. "You don't need to doubt her feelings. Perhaps the timing wasn't right before."

"Obviously the timing wasn't right! We were literally trying to kill each other before, mother. Not to mention the fact that she was with someone else." And her blood status used to matter to all of us, he finished silently.

"You will notice that those obstacles no longer exist, Draco."

Draco frowned, feeling guilty about Weasley. It was true. If they wanted to do this, there was really nothing stopping them. No wonder he had become interested so quickly. All she had to do was give him a sign, and he was on his damn knees.

Turns out she was slightly more invested than he realized.

That was actually rather... Amazing.

Narcissa looked at him carefully. "I've said my piece. Just consider that this has been in the making for longer than a week. Don't convince yourself that this is a small dalliance for her. You'd be selling yourself short. I suspect Miss Lovegood guessed as much as well."

Narcissa took a sharp left and strode off without another word, and after a moment of shell-shocked confusion, Draco ambled after her, thoughts a mess.

They walked in silence until the entrance to the East Wing loomed in front of them. Narcissa slipped her hand into the crook of Draco's arm as they slowed their pace, approaching a black, ornate wooden door that dwarfed them with its size. Everything they had just discussed slipped from his mind as he considered the task before them both.

"Now Draco," she said in hushed tones. "You will wait outside the door while I enter the room. I need five minutes to make conversation and administer the potion. At that point, I will come get you. If I don't appear, I may have encountered a problem, and the responsibility will fall to you."

The words were spoken calmly, but Draco knew what she really meant by 'problem'.

"I don't relish the idea of walking in there and finding you dead," he whispered.

"The likelihood of that happening is extremely low," she replied, squeezing his hand. "The Manor is deserted, and although I haven't spoken to you at length about the affect of the potion, you should know that the Dark Lord is incredibly weak. Even if he were able to perform magic, I'm sure the force of his spells would be negligible. I am confident that I will be able to fend off an attack."

"And if he doesn't take the potion?"

"He will if I have to force it down his throat," she said with absolute calm. "He'll be incapacitated. After that, we will fulfill the prophecy. Everything is in place, Draco. Your father will be avenged, and you will be free to spend your time however you wish."

Draco exhaled, briefly allowing his mind to flicker over what his life might look life after tonight. How would it feel not the have the weight of the War hanging over him? It had been a part of his life in some way or another since his school days. It was staggering to picture being free of that burden.

He could actually imagine moving forward, now. A future with purpose.

Someone he could care for.

And the truth was, he really didn't want to spend it with anyone else. He'd never been good at forming bonds with people, but the War had decimated what empathy he had left. If the only people in his life were his mother and Hermione, he'd hardly be able to complain. People like him never got chances like this.

"I'm having trouble believing this is really it," he said, feeling suddenly overcome. "Thank you so much for bringing me into this, mother."

Narcissa smiled, blinking rapidly as her eyes became glassy. "Draco, I have never lost faith in you. You've made me so proud."

She gathered him into her arms and gave him a tight hug before letting go, dabbing at the corner of her eyes with her fingertips.

"Let's go win this war," she said, giving him one last smile before schooling her face into a look of reserved disdain. Draco slipped into the shadows, and watched his mother step into the main hall of the East Wing, closing the door behind her.

* * *

The moment the door clicked shut, Draco realized how hard it would be to follow his mother's instructions. Jesus, this was a bad idea. Five minutes in limbo, hoping she would be safe. Five minutes to imagine everything going wrong. _  
_

There was nothing for it. Flattening himself against the wall, Draco reluctantly began to count the passing of time, trying to keep his mind off the heavy sense of foreboding that settled in his gut.

Luna flitted through his thoughts. How much of this had she foreseen? The role of his family was clear enough... But had she known he and Hermione would become close? One thing was for certain: if Luna hadn't kept putting Hermione in Draco's way, none of this would have come together so quickly, or perhaps not at all. He would be dead and Hermione would be off saving the world. He would never have known about his mother's double life. He would have died without a chance to redeem himself, drowning in his own blood.

How lucky that Luna had sought him out that day.

How incredibly sad that she was no longer with them.

While Draco would never find out how much she really knew, he suspected she'd be thrilled to know his feelings for Hermione. It was another reason he had to get this right. He wanted her sacrifice to be worthwhile. He wanted to make her proud.

First though, he had to make it out alive.

Looking at the closed door again, Draco gritted his teeth. Only a couple of minutes had passed, but the sense of foreboding was getting progressively worse. Something was off. He could feel it at the bottom of his stomach.

How long did it really take to pour a glass of mead? How much small talk did one need when they had discussions every single day? Five minutes seemed like a _year_, and Draco was itching to go inside.

"She's fine," he murmured under his breath, trying to assure himself. "You've got your orders. Don't ruin the plan."

He fidgeted in the shadows, trying to talk himself out of doing something foolish. It was impossible to keep still - he felt deeply unsettled, his gut screaming against whatever was happening behind that heavy door.

Draco looked down at his hand, which had somehow become clenched around his wand, knuckles white with strain.

Instincts.

A soldier's instincts, no less.

Well, that decided it. Setting his jaw, Draco stood up and took a deep breath. Sod his mother's instructions. She had always been fond of instincts anyway.

Walking up to the door, Draco braced himself, made a silent prayer to the universe, and turned the handle.

* * *

Draco stepped inside the hall, squinting in the dim light. There was no sound - no quiet conversation, no blistering firefights, nothing. A vacuum of activity. No sign of Narcissa.

Something was very wrong here. If his instincts were screaming before, they had yelled themselves hoarse by now.

His heart was making a valiant effort to crawl up his throat, and he swallowed hard, clinging to his military training to keep him focused. Wand out. Assess the space for threats. Locate the rest of the team. Get them to safety. He began to stalk through the hall, eyes scanning everything within reach.

Where the hell had his mother gone? If she was hurt... Bloody fuck, he would tear the Dark Lord's throat out. He would set this place on fire.

Something twitched in a far corner and Draco's head snapped over, his feet already breaking into a run, murmuring desperate pleas for mercy under his breath. As his eyes adjusted, he could see a pale body slumped across a table. It wasn't unmoving.

It also wasn't Narcissa.

The Dark Lord was almost unrecognizable from where he lay, sprawled out and skeletal. Where he was reptilian before, he was pre-historic now. Not an ounce of fat lay beneath his sunken grey skin, his cheeks so hollow they looked like webbing. Clawed hands were curled up into gnarled fists. The top of his knobby spine was visible at the collar of his robe.

Narcissa hadn't been exaggerating when she said the potion was working. It had done more damage than Draco ever thought possible - this _thing_ before him could not even be called human. It was like something you found in the swamps around the Black Lake. Misshapen and sickly. A creature of nightmares.

As much as it turned his stomach, Draco knew that appearances only told him so much. The body before him didn't appear to be breathing, but he had to be certain. What was he to do? Check for a pulse? The thought of touching the greying skin before him was deeply unpalatable, but there was really no way around it.

Draco reached out his hand, clenching his jaw as he leaned forward.

And then everything went wrong.

Suddenly, one snake-like eye opened, yellowing with a black slit.

Draco yelled, stumbling backwards, tripping on something that caught his boot, landing hard on the ground. He felt his ankle shatter, his cheek slamming into the floor with damaging force.

Disoriented, he attempted to sit up, blinking down at his feet to where he had fallen. He saw a delicate pale hand. The hand was attached to a body.

It was Narcissa, face down in a puddle of blood.

As Draco opened his mouth to scream, he heard the sound of approaching footsteps, and a muttered "Cruciatus."

His blood was on fire.

* * *

How terribly familiar.

It was strange, but Draco had only ever suffered the Cruciatus at the hand of his aunt. He had often been on the receiving end of her inhumane lessons or her temper, never for long, but it was enough to make him violently scared of ever feeling that level of agony again.

This was one of his aunt's lessons, amplified. Draco couldn't tell where his body ended. The entire world was pain. His heart was imploding.

Bellatrix stood over him, a look of lunacy on her face, her wand steady and pointed at his chest. She could hold a successful Cruciatus for hours. He'd seen it. And this was worse than usual, too, because she was _so angry_. He could feel it. The spell was the strongest it had ever been. His vision flickered white.

His body was twitching under the force of the curse, but he couldn't control his movements.

Someone was screaming.

It might have been him.

"I knew Cissy was up to something, but you, Draco?" Bella was hissing. "I'm disappointed. You are so much more pathetic than I thought. You're not worthy to call yourself a Death Eater."

Draco felt his eyes starting to slip back into his head. He fought it, but there wasn't much point. She would take him, in the end.

She continued to taunt him, becoming more shrill with every word.

"Spineless. Worthless. Weak. _Powerless_."

It was sad, he thought, somewhere in the recesses of his mind. For all his naive hopes, there would be no second chance. The world does not forgive its monsters. Bella would get her own, one day. Today was simply his comeuppance.

"I want to know what you've both been feeding him," she shrieked as he twitched and gurgled on the floor. "I knew that battle was a ploy, and look, see, I was right!" She was out of control now. She'd kill him before he could even consider making up an answer.

"I'll reverse the damage," she howled. "I'll bring him back better than ever. He will be strong again!"

There was a clicking sound far off in the distance.

Draco could have sworn - _sworn_ \- he'd heard feet hitting the ground. There was a voice. The Cruciatus faltered. The pain stopped.

It felt like jumping off a cliff. Glorious freefall. Cool air. He could feel blood trickling down his chin. He must have bitten his tongue.

Someone yelled his name. Draco blinked, his eyes streaming and unfocused.

Hermione was there. She looked murderous, her hair down and wild, lips moving rapidly, but Draco couldn't understand the words. She attacked Bellatrix, lightning quick, slicing the air with her wand. Bella's neck opened, gushing blood. His aunt fell to the ground, writhing.

Without a second of pause, Hermione lifted her wand again, and shot a jet of green light at the body of the Dark Lord. She stood strong as the pile of bones before her convulsed and then fell to the ground.

As Draco slipped under, he thought to himself, _it wasn't supposed to happen that way, was it Luna? _

_Luna?_

There was more yelling, and then someone's hands were touching his face, shaking violently. "Please, Draco. Please. Please be alright."

His thoughts regressed and scrambled themselves, looping around in his brain.

_Of course everything's not alright. How can you ask me that? Do you know what I am?_

There were more hands now, lifting him, strapping him onto a stretcher, smoothing out his hair. They were being so nice. Why were they being so nice? Nobody was ever nice to him.

_Why aren't you running away from me? I kill people like you._

Somebody was clutching his hand, pressing their lips to his fingers, dripping tears onto his skin, whispering sweet words into his ear.

He wondered vaguely about second chances.

Could he recognize them on sight?

Was this one?

_Are you planning on talking at any point?_

Bandages on his ankle. Salve on his body. Compress on his cheek. Murmured voices, gentle, lulling him into slumber.

_You've been very kind to me._

One hand over his heart.

_Can you help me get out of this?_

"Just sleep now," Hermione whispered. "I'll be here when you wake up."


	9. Chapter 9

_I AM SO SORRY FOR THE LATE CHAPTER. Explanation and apologies at the bottom so you can get right to reading! (PS, SiriuslyMrsMalfoy guessed the plot twist! Well done, you!)_

* * *

_"I'll be here when you wake up."_

Hermione's voice floated through Draco's dreams, disjointed and strange as they were, giving him a thread to hold on to when they teetered on the edge of becoming nightmares. He had no idea how long he slept, but he let himself sink into it, knowing on some level that he desperately needed the rest. It felt vaguely like being on a ship that was rocking slowly with the waves, having nowhere in particular to be. It was beautiful for a while, but it was also lonely, and Draco longed for the sun.

Eventually the fog lifted, and it pulled Draco with it, whispering him awake. He sluggishly blinked his eyes open.

"Welcome back," said Hermione, smiling at him, sunlight from the hospital window nearly eclipsing her face. She had kept her word. She was exactly where she said she'd be.

"Holy fuck," he coughed, and then grimaced, not intending to open with that particular greeting. His thoughts weren't completely back online, flickering weakly in his head. He felt awful.

She laughed. "Nice to see you too. It's probably best if you don't try to speak too much. Your throat is raw and you bit your tongue quite badly. Your ankle's healed up well though."

"Small mercies," he groaned, feeling sore absolutely everywhere. Even his skin hurt.

"You've just been shot up with a fresh round of drugs for the pain, so you'll be feeling lovely soon."

"I'm always feeling lovely, Granger," he grumbled.

She laughed again, and he decided in that moment that he needed to hear her laugh as often as possible, enjoying the way her face lit up at his words.

It wasn't the only change, either. Hermione looked completely transformed. All the stress and sadness that had etched itself across her features was gone. She looked bloody transcendent.

Life after the War already felt astonishingly different, and he'd only been part of it for a moment.

"Your mother will be pleased to know that you're awake," she said, shyly brushing his hair off his forehead. "She pulled through, although it was a close thing. The wounds are healing well. She's a War hero now, you know. Quite a celebrity."

Draco opened his mouth to reply, but found he couldn't speak around the sudden lump in his throat. Merlin, he was so grateful. When he saw his mother like that… Unmoving, injured… He had expected the worst. Another heartbreak to add to the growing list. Another body to bury. In a desperate bid to keep from humiliating himself, he grabbed Hermione's hand and squeezed, taking a couple of rattling breaths.

Hermione looked down at their joined hands and squeezed back, pretending not to notice his eyes welling up.

It occurred to him that she probably didn't really understand how indebted he felt. Gryffindors were like that, though - performing lunatic stunts just because it seemed like the right thing to do. Hermione had saved them. All of them. She wasn't even supposed to fucking _be there_.

She was completely mad, and he had never been happier for it.

"Your mother's got some impressive scars," Hermione said. "I think she actually likes them. Makes her look very scary."

"She _is_ very scary," he wheezed, his throat a mess.

Fumbling for a moment, she brought a glass of water to his lips. He sipped carefully, grateful for the cool relief.

"So Granger," he winced, swallowing through sandpaper. "You broke the rules."

"Rules? What are you on about?"

Draco smirked, feeling pleased that he could tease her again. "In my bedroom. I told you no heroics." _And then you had to storm in and win the War_.

"You are not seriously complaining about that!"

He chuckled, feeling too happy to argue. He didn't know if it was the drugs or the company, but suddenly he felt amazing.

"I'm not complaining, not really, but I wouldn't mind knowing what the hell happened in there."

"Fine. But stop talking, for goodness sakes. I was under strict orders to keep you quiet."

"Bossy," he whispered, but he let his eyes drift shut, thankful for the reprieve from the harsh sunlight. Hermione leaned back in the chair, but scooped his hand up in hers again, playing with his fingers absentmindedly.

"After you left the room, I changed back into a sparrow and followed you and your mother to the East Wing," she said, sounding a bit guilty, tracing a delicate line on his palm. "Something about the mission felt wrong. I can't even really explain it."

"Instincts," he supplied. "I felt it too."

"Hush," she chided. "Maybe it was instincts, I don't know. I watched your mother go in, and I saw you debating… You didn't look happy about being left outside. Anyway, when you went in early, I didn't move fast enough. The door closed before I could fly through. I had to change back, and then I was stuck there… Just pacing. I couldn't just follow you lest I make everything worse, but I also knew something was wrong. It was horrible."

"But then Bellatrix showed up," Draco said, seeing clearly in his mind what must have happened. He opened his eyes and looked her straight on. "You heard me screaming, didn't you."

She nodded. "I have never felt that scared in my life. When I saw you like that… And Narcissa… I just acted without thinking."

"Didn't know you were capable of that."

"Shut it, you."

"Sorry, sorry."

"Anyway, you know the rest. I killed Bellatrix. I'd do it again a million times over, you know." She sounded surprisingly defensive, and Draco realized she wasn't accustomed to taking lives. She had spent most of the War planning in the background.

"You're not going to hear me complaining, Hermione."

"Good," she said, looking calmer. "That's good. As for Voldemort, I made a quick decision. There was an empty vial on the ground, so I had to assume your mother had given him the potion before she was interrupted. I took the chance. I put the prophecy out of my mind and tried my luck."

"You were brilliant," he murmured.

"Voldemort took so much from me," she said, playing with his hand nervously, sadness ghosting over her face again. "I never thought I'd get the chance to take the only thing he had left, but there you go."

They sat in silence for a moment, both lost in thought.

"Hey Granger," Draco said, eventually.

"Hm?"

"I'm... Sorry. About leaving you in the bedroom. I know you've gone through a lot… It can't be easy to watch people leaving and never coming back. If I had been given a chance to make a better plan, I would have."

"Not your fault. I'd have been a mess regardless, I think."

"Because you fancy me." He decided to throw her a saucy grin, just because he could.

She glared at him, but there was no heat behind it. "Maybe."

"You do," he grinned. "You do fancy me. It's alright, I fancy you too. And I promise that next time I kiss you, we won't be marching off to our deaths."

She snorted. "Feeling confident that will happen again?"

"Naturally," he shrugged. "Could kiss you now, even."

"Draco, you have five stitches in your mouth."

"Ah," he said. "That would explain why it hurts to talk."

"You are incorrigible," she said, rolling her eyes. "And you need to keep quiet for a while."

"I suppose I can take orders from the woman who vanquished the Dark Lord."

Hermione sighed, suddenly looking worried. Draco stopped smiling, worried he had said something wrong.

"Sorry… You know I'm just teasing."

"I know, I know. It's not that. I just don't understand why I was able to kill him."

Draco looked at her quizzically. She was getting a little fuzzy around the edges, but he could see her face properly.

It was a nice face.

Oh my, the drugs were really kicking in.

"The prophecy," she said, trying to explain. "I don't understand the prophecy. We built everything with the understanding that it had to be you or your mother, but in the end, it was me." She shook her head and looked away, confused. "I guess… Maybe this is the one time that Luna got it wrong."

Draco stared at her. No, it wasn't possible. Was she being serious? Because now that he'd gotten over the shock of seeing Hermione actually kill the Dark Lord, he understood perfectly clearly what had happened.

Did she really not? Did she not know?

"Hermione - "

"Hush," she tutted. "It's okay, it doesn't matter, I suppose. The War is over, which was the whole point. Neville and his troops are all getting commendations. You too, I imagine. Everyone knows how you helped."

"Fine, I don't give a toss what people know, but when you said - "

"Draco, Madam Pomfrey will seriously have my head if she hears you talking."

"I certainly will!" piped up the nurse, marching in from the hallway and cutting their conversation short, much to Draco's dismay. "I'll need to borrow your young man for a moment, Hermione. Still lots of work to do on the poor lad."

Hermione blushed at Madam Pomfrey's description and stood up quickly, pulling her hand away. "Of course. I'll come back later, Draco."

"Wait, but the prophecy… When you said - "

"Later!" She walked out of the room, nearly tripping on her feet as she looked over her shoulder at him.

Draco found his face doing something most unusual.

"You're grinning like a fool," said Madam Pomfrey in a disapproving voice, stepping in to block his view.

"She thinks the prophecy was wrong," he said, smiling even wider. He wanted to laugh. It was the funniest thing he'd ever heard. And these drugs were bloody _fantastic_.

"Are you feeling quite alright?" Madam Pomfrey replied with a furrowed brow. "Maybe I should change the dosage. Enough chatter, you. Had to intubate you in a hurry, and your tongue needs some rest yet."

"It wasn't wrong," he giggled. "It was absolutely spot on."

"Merlin's beard," she muttered, fiddling with his medication. "Much too strong of a dose. I'll bring that right down."

"We just understood it wrong," he continued.

"'Course you did love," she replied, patting him on the hand. "I've got to grab something from my supplies. Be back in a tick."

He watched Madam Pomfrey leave the room and shook his head, still smiling.

Bloody Luna. She must have known, the crafty witch.

The Dark Lord's killer will be a Malfoy. Curious wording, no?

He giggled to himself. How funny that he never noticed. The prophecy could have just as easily been _the Dark Lord's killer is a Malfoy_.

Instead, there was room for interpretation. The killer _will be_ a Malfoy. The killer was Hermione Granger.

"Ergo," he informed the empty room, "Hermione will, one day, become a Malfoy."

And then he laughed, and laughed, and laughed.

After ages of being kept in the dark, after having to piece together this insane mystery with only scraps of information, he finally had a leg up. He knew the final plan.

She would figure it out eventually. Once she had a minute to slow down. She was brilliant, after all. She'd probably yell a bit. She loved yelling at him.

But until then, he would just enjoy the moment.

Besides, he had a feeling it was the last time he'd ever be a step ahead of her, and it seemed they were going to be together for a very long time.

* * *

Sleep took him for hours and hours. When he awoke, considerably more sober, Narcissa was at his bedside. Somehow, despite being wrapped up in a hospital blanket, she still managed to look regal.

"Mother," he said, blinking himself awake, testing his mouth out, pleased that he was already less pain. When his vision cleared, he couldn't help but stare - there were thin red lines criss-crossing her throat. Although they were healing quickly, he could tell they had been extremely deep. How she had managed to survive the blood loss was beyond him.

"Quite something, aren't they?" she smiled, interrupting his thoughts, leaning in to press a kiss to his forehead. "I don't mind them, actually. I suppose it's time I had some battle scars."

"Visible ones," he said, still stunned at the damage.

"A valid point," she replied. "It's been a long war. We've had quite an adventure, you and I."

"Could do with a little less adventuring in the future," he said, gesturing to his bandaged body. "Providing we won't be hanged for our crimes, I think I'd like to get into a painfully boring line of work. Perhaps one without sadistic Dark wizards. I hear accounting is extremely dull."

"I'm sure that can be arranged," she smiled. "And you can rest easy about our crimes. We've been pardoned, as it turns out. Miss Granger spun quite a tale about us both being double agents. She was more generous with the timelines than was perhaps realistic, but I don't find it within myself to complain, given the circumstances."

"Nor do I," he admitted, relief mixing with unease. "Although being pardoned for some of the things I've done... Well."

"Is there a problem?"

He fidgeted uncomfortably, twisting the sheets in his fist. The fighting may be over, but some of the things he had done would haunt him forever. How many lives had he taken? How many families had he destroyed?

It had taken him much too long to change allegiance. The damage he had done was inexcusable.

"I don't deserve a pardon, mother," he muttered. "I'm not a good person, regardless of what Hermione thinks. I never have been."

"That makes two of us," she replied. "But here we are."

He looked at her quizzically.

"You and I are deeply imperfect people, Draco. We won't suddenly become angels just because we switched sides. Life is not so black and white."

"But where does that leave us? The choices we made - "

"The choices we made ended the War," she shrugged. "That leaves us with a future, and a rare chance to put some of our past to bed. I won't pretend that we are model citizens, but I know we have changed."

"How can you be sure?"

"Well, for one, I don't have much appetite for the things I used to value. I'm sure you feel the same."

Draco thought of how he used to crave power, how his kill count was a badge of honour before the doubt took over. He shuddered at the memory.

What did he value now?

Stability. Quiet. Family. Loyalty. Someone to care for.

He grimaced. "Merlin's beard, I've become a fucking Hufflepuff."

Narcissa laughed, a sweet, young sound that he hadn't heard in years.

"I suppose it could be worse," she smiled. "At least you're not a Gryffindor."

Draco snorted, and then cleared his throat, trying to decide how to broach the topic of the prophecy. "Uh, speaking of Gryffindors..."

Narcissa met his eye, and he could tell she'd worked it out already. Thank God he had been spared that conversation.

"You needn't worry, Draco," said Narcissa. "She's a lovely girl. I've thought so for quite a while."

"You know what it means, though."

"It means that one day I'll have a very bright daughter-in-law."

"That will never stop being weird," he said, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Does she know?"

Draco shook his head. "I doubt she's had a moment to think about anything since the mission ended."

"Very true. But since you've worked out the true meaning, what do you plan to do about it? You're basically betrothed."

Draco's answer had been percolating in the back of his mind since he realized what the prophecy meant, and he had come to a surprising conclusion.

"You know... I think I'm just going to ignore it."

Narcissa blinked at him. "I don't understand."

He smirked. "I don't hear that very often."

"Explain."

"It hardly needs explanation. I have done nothing to deserve all the good fortune that's come into my life. I've gone from having absolutely no hope for my future to having everything I wanted in a very short period of time. There is no way, _no way_ I will take a second of it for granted."

Narcissa frowned. "And this applies to Hermione how...?"

"Because I refuse to treat her like a I have a right to her. Just because some prophecy says we are meant to be together doesn't mean she deserves to be treated like a certainty. I'm going to ignore the prophecy. I'm going to earn her affection properly."

A look of understanding dawned on Narcissa's face. "Are you just saying that you'd like to... Court her?"

"I suppose I am," he said, fighting the blush that was crawling up his neck. "I'm in no rush, you know. We can take things slowly. I just don't want her to spend another day unaware of her worth."

Narcissa broke out in a dazzling smile. "Oh, Draco. And you doubt that you've changed?"

Draco shrugged, cheeks flushing. "I know I sound ridiculous."

"Actually," she said, leaning in and kissing his cheek. "You sound very much like your father. Before all the nonsense with Voldemort, before he got distracted by power. He was very much a romantic, you know."

"I... I would not have guessed that."

"He'd be very proud of you, Draco."

He gave her a look of utter disbelief. "Mother, I'm planning to date and potentially marry his mortal enemy. He would be _livid_."

"Well," she sighed, looking quite happy, "Lucius always did like a bit of drama."

* * *

They managed exactly one date before everything went mental. The date was at the hospital cafeteria.

"Just a quick bite," Hermione said, leading him by the hand. "The food is better down here, and you need your strength."

"Why do I need my strength?" he groused. "I'm feeling fine. I just want to go home. The Manor needs to be bloody exorcized before it can be used… The sooner I can get started, the better."

She laughed nervously and then looked over her shoulder. "It's just… I thought we could take a moment while things are quiet. There may be a bit of press outside."

Draco frowned at her anxious fidgeting and squinted at the menu board. Casserole? Revolting. "A bit of press? How much is a bit?"

"Approximately seventy reporters," she mumbled. "Maybe more. And that's not including the crowd."

"Ah." He bit his lip, and they ate in silence as he mulled the information over.

"This is going to be tricky, isn't it," he said.

"What… Leaving the hospital?"

"Well, that… And the rest of it."

Hermione froze, and Draco quickly backtracked, realizing his misstep.

"No no, don't misunderstand. I don't regret a thing. This isn't a passing fancy for me, Hermione. Sod the press – I'm not leaving just because it will be difficult for a while."

Her shoulders relaxed a bit.

"It's just that I wanted to... I wanted to take you out. Spoil you a bit. Let us take our time. That's all. I have a feeling that's going to be nearly impossible now."

She tilted her head at him, looking curious. "Why Draco Malfoy… You're surprisingly old fashioned. I had no idea."

He shrugged, feeling slightly embarrassed. "I've spent most of my life treating you rather terribly. Just thought it was time to make more of an effort."

Much to his surprise, she leaned over and kissed him lightly on the mouth. It was over too quickly for him to react, save for a tiny moan that escaped his lips.

"You're a good man," she whispered.

"I'm really, really not."

"We will agree to disagree," she sighed, glancing toward the exit. "You're probably right, though. Normal dating is out of the question. We'd be hounded at every turn."

"There must be an alternative."

Hermione looked lost in thought. "I'll work on something. I think we'll be just fine."

They ate their lunch quietly, tucked into a corner of the room where they had a small scrap of privacy. The conversation was easy, all the tension from their previous encounters burned away into ash. Hermione talked about her ideas for the memorials, and unloaded her concerns about how to house all the displaced families while they sorted out the reconstruction. Draco suggested the Ministry ask his mother for help with the rebuilding efforts.

"She has access to Voldemort and Bellatrix's private fortunes," he said around a gulp of tea. "The money from that could probably rebuild most of Britain, honestly. My mother is a very effective planner… She could arrange everything in record time. If you wanted, that is."

He was pleased to receive a slightly longer kiss for his idea.

"I'm not looking forward to this," Hermione whispered as they finished their meal, reluctantly standing up to leave. "I've no interest in the attention. I'm going to have to talk about Harry now… Everyone will want to know. And Ron. And Luna. I just… I don't…" She was started to breathe too quickly, and Draco steadied her, sliding an arm around her waist.

"Shhh, hold on," Draco said, turning them both and walking in the opposite direction from the entrance. "Here's the thing about being the person who ended the War. You can say whatever you want to whenever you want to. Everyone is mourning, Hermione. They will understand if you're not ready to talk about the people you lost."

"But all the questions – "

"They can wait. And if they bother you, they lose their privileges. You don't belong to the press, Hermione."

She nodded, numbly.

"Here, I have an idea. I'm going to go out the front entrance now, alright?"

"What good will that do?" she asked, confused. "You'll be torn apart. I know you've been pardoned, but people won't trust you right away. They still think of you as a Death Eater."

"I'm counting on it," he said. "The difference is that I don't care what people think of me. I'm going to go out and distract them, and you're going to leave by the back door."

"Really?" she said, looking apprehensive. "That's not going to be easy for you."

"It'll be better for you, and it will give them something different to talk about. I'll see you soon, yeah?" He pressed a kiss to her temple, knowing it may be a while before he got another chance. "Please tell me I'll see you soon."

"Of course," she said, turning her face and kissing him hard. He felt it curl deliciously in his gut, and nipped at her lips as she pulled away.

Squaring his shoulders, Draco turned on his heel and marched up to the front entrance, seeing the cameras perk up at the sight of him.

If there was one thing his family knew how to do, it was how to make an entrance.

He put on his best glare and stepped out into the crowd.

* * *

It was two weeks before they saw each other again.

The demands on Hermione's time were overwhelming, and he found himself writing her notes via owl just to keep her calm, assuring her that it would all be over soon. Perhaps it was the prophecy lurking in the background, but Draco felt relatively at ease about it all. He used the time to his advantage, clearing out the Manor, locking up the dungeons, and solidifying the family's finances once again. Voldemort's residency had turned every corner into a potential death trap, and Draco found himself calling in favours with curse breakers just to make sure the building was safe for future occupancy.

He rather hoped he and his mother wouldn't be the only ones living there, eventually. Should things go well. Not that he was taking anything for granted.

Narcissa was indeed called upon to help with the reconstruction efforts, and performed brilliantly, overseeing projects that finished weeks ahead of schedule. Nobody wanted to question how she got everything done so quickly, which was probably wise, since very little of it was legal. As Narcissa told Draco one evening, "Just because I've changed sides doesn't mean I have to be inefficient." He didn't ask for details. He tended to agree with her, anyway.

Still, two weeks was a long time to be apart, and Draco had begun to wonder if he had miscalculated somewhere along the way. Should he be making grand gestures? Should he just tell Hermione what Luna meant? The truth was, he didn't know if telling her would help his case, or hinder it. As a general rule, Hermione hated to be told what to do, and it would do him no good to push her away.

He would have to be patient. It was not one if his virtues, but he was determined to learn.

One evening, as he was willing himself to sleep, he heard a tapping at the window. Heart jumping into his throat, he threw himself out of bed, clamouring to reach the source of the noise.

It was a sparrow.

Of course it was a sparrow.

Moments later, a shivering Hermione slipped under the covers with him, teeth chattering from the chilly air. "I don't know why I didn't think of this sooner," she whispered. "I thought I'd be imposing, but that was stupid, wasn't it?"

"Extremely stupid," he whispered back, worried his racing heart would make him blather out a litany of cheesy confessions.

"I've missed you terribly," he allowed himself.

"And I you," she said, tucking her head under his chin. "Would you mind if I stayed here tonight?"

"Don't be an idiot," he said, fondly.

She was asleep within seconds.

The next night, he left the window open, hoping he wasn't being naively optimistic about his chances. He held his tongue when she finally slipped under the covers, enjoying the way she burrowed into his chest and promptly fell asleep, mumbling something about the Ministry's bureaucratic structure.

"I'd like for you to stay here every night," he whispered, knowing she wouldn't hear a thing. "Even if we just sleep. I don't mind."

They continued that way for weeks, Hermione working herself to the bone all day, and then falling into a deep sleep seconds after crawling into bed. It thrilled Draco beyond words. He had never experienced this before - a partner who wanted to share space just because it felt good. Just because they wanted to be close.

The prophecy was relegated to the back of his mind and stayed there, losing prominence under the piles of new information Draco was accumulating: the feeling of Hermione's skin against his, the surprising warmth of her body after she settled in under the covers, the feeling of sleepy kisses before they both drifted off.

One night, Hermione arrived looking considerably more awake than usual.

"Good day?" he asked, rearranging himself on the pillow.

"Hmmm," she nodded, tying back her hair and sliding in beside him. "Strange case at the Ministry. They asked me for my opinion, but it's not really my area."

"What was the case?"

"Blaise Zabini's body was found in the Thames."

Draco made sure his breathing didn't so much as hitch. "How did it get there?"

"Not sure," she said stretching. "But the funny thing was that he didn't drown. He choked on something. A letter, actually. Must have been thrown in to the river afterwards."

"What sort of letter?" He traced shapes on her arm, trying very carefully not to meet her eyes.

"A confession," she said. "Everyone he had ever killed or tortured."

"Must have been a long list," he murmured.

"It was," she said. He could feel her eyes taking him apart, searching him for clues. "Luna was on it."

"Ah," he said.

"Well," she sighed, "It's really too bad."

"What is?"

"Choking is too kind a death for someone like him," she said, turning her back to him and yawning. "But at least he's gone. Goodnight, Draco."

"Goodnight Hermione," he whispered, and kissed his relief into her spine. Maybe one day he would tell her that they should have checked Blaise's blood for fire scorpion venom, rumoured to be one of the most painful ways to die. Maybe he would tell her that choking was an act of mercy because he couldn't stand to watch the display anymore.

Or maybe he would keep that detail to himself.

The next night, Hermione crawled into bed wearing absolutely nothing. Draco held his breath, worried he was hallucinating. They had never gone past gentle touches. He hadn't wanted to rush things. They'd never even talked about it.

Apparently she was changing the pace.

"I was wondering if perhaps you wanted to sleep a bit less this evening," she said, conversationally.

Draco filed away the feeling of her thighs wrapped around his head, the slick wet between her legs, the sensation of her trembling against his tongue.

The following evening, he filed away the mind-blowing sensation of sliding inside of her, murmuring things he'd never say outside their bed, moving slowly until he spilled himself dry, shuddering with desire.

He filed away frantic shags over the edge of the bed, the obscene sound of skin hitting skin as she screamed his name.

He filed away the warmth of the inside of her mouth, the lazy slide of her tongue against his cock, the softness of the back of her throat.

He filed away the night she let him finish inside of her three times, his eyes rolling back with arousal, a chorus of _mine mine mine_ on repeat in his head. Nobody would ever have her like this again. He knew it like he knew his own name.

He filed it all away, happy to let their arrangement continue indefinitely, until one night she snuggled against him and mumbled, "No matter what Luna said, I have no plans to change my name."

Draco opened his mouth and then closed it several times.

"Alright," he said, and then tightened his arms around her, enjoying the warm buzz that was working its way through his chest. "That's quite alright. And the rest of it?"

"I'll move my things in this weekend," she yawned, and then dozed off against him.

THE END

* * *

_A/N: Woo! What a ride! _

_Y'all. I am SO SORRY I left you hanging on Friday. That is super not my style. I posted some updates on Tumblr, but I know you're not all on there. Long story short, I had to go out of town for a wedding, we left earlier than expected, I wasn't completely happy with the chapter, and I didn't get back to town until late Saturday. At that point I re-read the chapter, hated it, deleted it, and rewrote the entire thing yesterday. So. I've been busy, but I finally got it how I wanted it._

_What a process! This was a very different kind of story for me. It was certainly way darker than usual, but it was also WAY more planned out than any fic I've attempted before. I pretty much knew what I wanted in every chapter right from the beginning. For my other stories, I totally made that shit up. Anyway, it was a really interesting experience. (And sorry if you were hoping for way more graphic smut, but I didn't want to force it... I'll write you more dirty stories later to fulfill your needs!) You've all been lovely and it's been so nice to see all your names popping up every day. I'm happy to answer any questions you have... Tumblr is probably easiest because then I can share the responses. _

_xoxoxo_

_Angie_


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